


You Are My Sunshine

by LittleLynn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, I did not add more as i went, I'll add more as I go, M/M, Vampire!Bard, but apparently not, you'd think i'd be better at tagging by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his first hunt in a new town Bard did not mean to happen upon a Lord in the night, falling from his horse, spooked from the storm.  </p><p>Thranduil thought him to be his saviour, Bard feared he would be his end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can totally handle four wips at once and prompt fills...
> 
> (I'm trash for vampires and I am not sorry)
> 
> (I may change the title in the morning if I wake up and hate it :') )

 

1839\. Bard had lost track somewhere along the way of how old that made him, he figured he was probably better off not knowing anyway, he already felt tired enough as it was. Tilda had been asking when his birthday was because they wanted to throw him a party or buy him a cake or something, Bard had told her a random date, he couldn’t remember what day his birthday was.

It was too long ago.

The only thing he had been able to hold on to was his name, and maybe his humanity, but sometimes he wondered. Either way that hadn’t been so much held onto as it was desperately recovered more than once, he hadn’t slipped in a long while, maybe that meant he wouldn’t ever again, or maybe it meant to was bound to do soon.

1839 and a different house, a different county, different people.  He had to move every ten or fifteen years, no matter how much you keep to yourself, someone begins to notice you haven’t aged a day. He could live in large manors and great stately homes, he had accumulated a fair amount of wealth over the years, but the last thing Bard wanted was to attract attention to himself, so he never used the money and lived a humble life, no one would ever assume him to be any more than a commoner.

Bard made a point of never buying properties in the town, always in the country, slightly removed from everything, it was easier to stay concealed that way. It was a small farm this time, the house was nice enough, nicer than he usually bought, but then he usually didn’t have to worry about things like warmth and room for beds and a working kitchen.

But now he did.

“Da!” Tilda shouted happily, and right there was the reason he now had to worry about these things. “Do I get my own room?” She asked, bouncing around him and so very alive.

“Yes, you all get your own room.” Bard nodded and she shrieked with delight, running back into the new farmhouse, well, new for them anyway, it looked like it had been standing a little while already.

“Do you mind us calling you that?” Sigrid asked, she looked a lot like her sister, looked a lot like her mother had.

It was an odd question, Tilda had always called him that, Sigrid had called him that for a few years, Bain had just started, maybe the question was brought on from their move, as they left behind their mother’s old house.

Bard shook his head.

“I like it. I hope you never stop.” Bard answered honestly, he hoped he could be a father to them.

“We won’t, not unless you leave us.” Sigrid promised him and Bard had a hand around her arm, careful to keep his grip loose.

“I will never do that.” He swore and he meant every word.

“I know.” Sigrid smiled and she was moving into the house after her sister, presumably to stop her from snatching up the largest room.

He had met their mother, Madeline, when she was still carrying Tilda, she had been an intriguing woman, it hadn’t taken long for her to become the first friend he had had in a very long time, though it did take a long time for him to reveal his secret to her. She hadn’t even flinched, Bard had never hurt her and never would, that was all that matter to her. Bard was her friend.

Bard had missed having a friend, he’d been good at pretending he wasn’t lonely until she came into his life. Her husband had gone out one day and not come back, she never found out if he had died or left, Bard knew he had left, he didn’t tell her. She already had two mouths to feed as well as her own, and had another on the way as well, she couldn’t work while she was heavy with child, Bard had provided for them. The idea of them starving was not one he would tolerate. She was his friend.

He hadn’t been there all the time, Bard didn’t like roots holding him down to one place and had pulled against these ones until a small baby, not yet one, was pushed into his arms and Madeline had glared at Bard and told him to either stay or go and not leave them wondering if they would ever see him again.

Bard had stayed.

Then Madeline died.

Bard stayed.

She took a little piece of him with her when she died.

But he was never going to leave those children, not until the inevitability of mortality took them from him. He hated knowing he was going to see that, have to lose them and go back to being alone, he tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard sometimes.  

Bard didn’t care about how it would hurt him in the end, they needed him and he loved them so he stayed.

They were his children.

Bain had hated him for a long time after his mother died. Bain thought he could have saved her. But she was already dead before he got to her, he couldn’t bring her back. His friend was gone.

He found the men that did it. No one found them again. He almost slipped that night. But his ears could hear a toddler crying, so in tune to the children already. He went home instead.

That was six years ago, Bard still missed her, so did the children.

“Will you try to talk to someone here?” Bain asked, but knowing people was dangerous.

“No.” He couldn’t risk being discovered and he couldn’t lose another friend. Isolation was safest.

“You’re lonely. We don’t like it.” Bain pushed, he was fourteen, old enough to realise these things now then.

“I will always be lonely again in the end.” Bard pointed out, he tried not to sound too melancholy about it.

“Do you regret knowing my mother?” He was a clever boy, Bard already knew what he was going to say, but it was not so simple, he didn’t regret it, but he wished he could and it did not mean he intended to put himself through losing such a friend again.

“Of course not.” It was the answer Bain wanted.

“Then that is a terrible excuse. Will you try? We don’t like that you aren’t happy.”

“Maybe.” Bard relented, he wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, either way Bain seemed satisfied and went to find his sisters in the house.

Sigrid had lit the candles so that she and her siblings could see, Bard didn’t need them, that was another thing he still wasn’t used to having to think about, he didn’t need light to be able to see. They were moving in in the night, it was safest, sunlight did not kill him, but it made him fiercely ill, he would hardly be of use moving their things.

Not that they had much, a few suitcases, some old heirlooms, a few things of their mother’s.

Bard was glad of the farm, he liked being around things that grew, things that were alive. It made him feel as though he could be too, like an echo.

He got Tilda to bed almost immediately, she demanded a bedtime story and Bard happily obliged, he had many stories. Bain and Sigrid wanted to organise some of their few things first and Bard did not tell them no, even if they should be in bed also, he couldn’t see the harm.

Bard didn’t sleep but he kept a bedroom, partially for appearances, just in case they ever had a guest, and partially because he liked having his own space, especially now his house was full. He liked that his house was full.

He wanted to buy some books from town, he spent a lot of time reading, most of what he had brought with him were books, he wanted some new ones to read. They could go into the town tomorrow if it was overcast, he knew that would excite the children, they loved new places, Bard worked hard not to keep them inside all the time.

Luckily the dour English weather meant he was not confined to inside during the day all the time, it was almost winter now, most of the days were dreary and cold, he liked I because it meant he could move about freely.

Bard tried not to miss the sun.

The sofa in their small living room was old but comfortable, Bard sat on it and closed his eyes and listened to the steady breathing of the children sleeping, it comforted him.

He was hungry. He ignored it.

It could wait until tomorrow. He knew he shouldn’t wait, waiting only meant the chance of him taking too much when he did feed was increased. But he didn’t want to leave the children in a new house on the first night, even if it never took him long. Besides, the tatters of his humanity usually made him stop in time.

Instinct was a hard thing to fight against.

Bard remembered all their faces. Perhaps he was lucky he didn’t sleep.

It was a sort of meditative daze, listening to the children sleeping and shutting off his mind. He couldn’t sleep and he didn’t need rest, but he didn’t want to leave the house and he knew Tilda wanted to be in charge of where all of their things went, so he would wait to arrange the house until the morning.

He passed the night like that, were it not for his enhanced senses he would hardly have noticed that it was daytime again, the weather was so bleak. He did not wake up the children when he usually would, they had had a late night so he did not mind if they needed to lie in.

He cooked them breakfast, he had loved learning to cook over the past eight years, Madeline had taught him a lot, he had gotten good at it himself as well, or at least the children told him he had, Bard had no need for food. That kind of food anyway. He tried not to think about people as food.

Three sleepy happy faces made their way into the small kitchen at the smell of food, it always worked well to get them downstairs, and it was almost noon. Maybe it was lunch not breakfast then.

“I thought we could go into the town today, buy some books, have a look around?” Bard suggested and he got three smiling faces in response as well as a list of things they would like when Bard offered, they never asked without invitation, it was something he was trying to change, but Bard supposed he asked a lot so maybe it didn’t matter.

They arranged the house first, moving around furniture and getting everything how they wanted it. Bard could have done it all himself much faster, but they liked helping so he left them push around things too. There was a small study that they turned into a rather disorganised library, Bard liked it, it felt homey. 

When everything was the way they wanted it they headed into town. It took almost an hour and a half to walk there, by Tilda’s speed anyway, Bain and Sigrid could probably do it in an hour, Bard could do it in minutes. But they weren’t in a hurry so they walked at Tilda’s speed.

The town was like most other towns in the country, bigger than they used to be and mildly unfriendly to newcomers. The rise in industry happening in the cities was putting a strain on the towns already, Bard wondered if their next move should be into a city, but they had always seemed like dangerous places to him, he would never let the children out of his sight.

The cities would be easier for him to hunt in though, he knew it, he could smell blood somewhere near him. He pushed it from his mind and forced down his growing need to drink.

They got what they needed and strolled around the town, Sigrid and Bain introducing them all whenever someone asked, usually shopkeepers wondering who the new faces were. They always introduced him as their father and it always made him smile. It gave him a purpose.

He could feel the hunger growing fast now, it always grew fast if he left it too long. His hand was shaking so he shoved it  in his pocket, his canines were crawling forward every time a saw a stranger’s bare neck, wrist, arm. His ears were picking up on every throbbing artery and beating heart, his eyes were picking up the tiny beats of pulse in people’s necks. He hated it.

It was raining by the time they were halfway home and Bard picked Tilda up and did his best to tuck her into his coat, even though she was getting a little big for that, he would just have to buy a bigger coat. Bard was forever scared of one of them catching a chill from the rain, he knew first-hand just how fragile mortals were.

They walked quickly and managed to be home just before the rain became truly torrential, Bard bolting off at an impossible speed and having the children wrapped in towels only seconds later and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re fine da, honestly.” Sigrid assured him, trying to pat her hair dry, Bard wasn’t convinced, probably wouldn’t be until a week had passed and they hadn’t gotten sick.

“I need to go out tonight.” Bard told them, they all knew what he meant by it. “Keep all the doors locked and don’t let anyone in.” He hated leaving them but it had already been too long, almost four days, usually he didn’t go past two, it got dangerous after that.

“As if we would.” Sigrid smiled, rolling her eyes, and that was all that was said.

He tucked them all into bed, even though Bain and Sigrid were too old to need it, he liked doing it when he needed to feed, it grounded him before going out and giving in. There was no point in starving himself, he’d done it once, he hadn’t died, he’d blacked out and killed four people.

He still saw their faces, drained and gaunt and discarded on the ground near to where he woke up. He had known what had happened without needing his memory back.

 When he could hear that they were all asleep he double checked that all the windows and doors were locked before pressing out into the darkness. The rain was heavier than Bard had seen it in a great many years, a true downpour, there would be thunder and lightning soon, he had no doubt of it, luckily it had never bothered the children.

Bard ran with inhuman speed and he listened and he looked, the first person he came across would do, but of course the main problem with hunting in the night was that most person were in their homes. It was not so late yet, there should be some people still out in the town, it would not take him long to get there.

But something caught Bard’s keen eyes long before he reached the town, he had only been running a minute or too, he had not expected to find anyone so close.

He had not expected to find anyone so beautiful.

Bard could see perfectly well in the dark, but the flash of lightning in the sky illuminated the man more and Bard committed him to memory in that second.

He was light.

Bard could see from the hair escaping the hood the rider was trying to keep up despite the wind that his hair was long and silver, he had ivory skin and piercing blue eyes that seemed to Bard to cut through the night, dark eyebrows and a jawline so sharp Bard bet he could cut himself on it. His lips were red and his movements were elegant, even as he fought against the storm.

Bard was mesmerised.

If he believed in a god he would be convinced this man was an angel come to save him.

Bard tucked himself out of sight, not that the man would be able to see more than a metre in this darkness, but still, he would wait for him to pass, he could hear the man’s pulse even above the noise of the storm, but still he fought his hunger, he wanted to let him pass.

He was clearly a skilful rider, but even the most skilful rider would be thrown off by their horse being spooked by thunder and rearing back suddenly. Bard was there before the man slid from the horse, closing the few hundred metres between them in less than a second and catching him gently mid-descent.

The man cried out in surprise and discomfort and Bard noticed his foot was caught in one of the stirrups and being turned harshly. Bard quickly detangled him from the stirrup, not letting go of the man as he did.

As soon as it was free the horse bolted, maybe it knew he was a predator, animals usually knew these things. Or maybe it was just the thunder, it was hard to tell.

“Are you alright?” Bard asked, still supporting the man’s weight as he winced hard the moment he put his foot down.

“How on earth did you reach me so fast, how did you even know where I was.” The man demanded, and that was not the response Bard expected, though he guessed it made sense.

“I was just behind you, I could hear your horse and in the lightening I saw you, just a lucky catch I guess.” Bard tried, hoping the other man bought it, those blue eyes cut through the darkness once again and it was clear he was suspicious, but what other explanation was there?

“Very lucky indeed.” He answered, voice filled with guarded curiosity. “Pray tell me what a man is doing in the middle of nowhere without a horse or even a coat.” He arched one imposing brow, Bard hadn’t noticed he wasn’t wearing a coat.

“My home is not far.” Bard attempted to come up with a believable lie about his coat. “I only meant to be out for a few moments, I did not want to soak my only coat for no reason.” 

The man watched him closely, as if to be able to read his mind and discover what he was hiding.

“Your horse bolted. How far is your home?” Bard asked, the man must come from somewhere nearby otherwise he would never have been out here at such a time in such weather.

“I own Greenwood Hall.” He answered, trying to lay his foot down again before relenting and letting Bard take most of his weight, listing into him.

Bard barely heard his words over the thud of his jugular, leant close to his mouth, too close. Hunger was clawing at him, he knew his canines had elongated.

“My home is far closer.” Bard told him, the man understood his invitation.

“I must at least be given your name before I allow you to bring me to your home.”

“Bard Bowman.”

“Lord Thranduil Oropherion.”

Bard had heard the name, the reclusive lord of Greenwood Hall, no one seemed to know anything about him.

“You will not mind being in a farmhouse?” Bard said, even as he moved them through the storm, worried about the way Thranduil had begun shivering, his pulse has slowed fractionally.

“Anywhere out of this rain would be paradise.” Thranduil grit out, Bard barely notice the dark or the cold, or the rain.

Thranduil hopped somehow gracefully on his good foot, but it was slow, too slow.

“My Lord, please forgive me but you are moving too slowly.” Bard apologised and scooped Thranduil up in a bridal carry before he could speak.

Thranduil merely laughed, the sound warmed Bard somehow. He had not felt warm in a long while.

He hoped Thranduil did not notice how easily he took his weight, as if the man weighed less than a feather in his arms, just as he hoped he did not notice how quickly they were moving, he was careful not to move at an inhuman pace, but it would be enough to raise suspicion. Thranduil just looked relieved at the prospect of being out of the storm sooner rather than later.

Thranduil let his head fall back and Bard groaned low in his throat as the long snowy column of his neck was bared without thinking.

“Am I getting heavy?” Thranduil asked, amused and suppressing his shivers, apparently assuming that was the reason for the groan.

“A little.” Bard lied through grit teeth, forcing back every urge to _bite_.

He was so hungry.

He could hear Thranduil’s heart beating, his lips were rosy red.

He pushed on.

They were back to the farmhouse soon enough. Bard set Thranduil on the sofa and disappeared to find some towels, the children were all still soundly asleep, Thranduil took the towel and slipped off his sodden coat, handing it to Bard to hang up.

Bard felt light headed. He could hardly hear anything over the sound of the blood rushing around under Thranduil’s delicate skin. His mouth had gone dry, his vision was blurring at the edges.

“Bard? Are you alright, you look a little ill.” Thranduil commented, his hand on Bard’s arm, he hadn’t noticed him get up.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes.” Bard dodged the question and shook off Thranduil’s hand, he could smell so acutely now, he couldn’t even think about how sweet the other man’s natural scent was because all he could think about was drinking.

He came back with dry clothes, Thranduil took them gratefully, even if a little bemused, he had probably never been in such common things before.  Bard turned his back while the lord changed. He would not have been able to resist so much bare skin.

“The kids are asleep. You can have my room.” Bard grit out.

He needed to get out of there, back outside, find some stranger to feed on. He didn’t want to bite Thranduil even though he wanted to with every fibre of his being.

Thranduil needed Bard to help him to his room. Bard knew his eyes were dilating, his grip on Thranduil’s waist just slightly too tight. He helped Thranduil into the bed.

Bard turned away the moment Thranduil was settled, he couldn’t think, he needed to get out.

But Thranduil caught his wrist. Bard had his hand wrapped around Thranduil’s wrist in a blink, he could feel Thranduil’s pulse thumping.

“Thank you, Bard Bowman.” Thranduil smiled, it was honest but there was an almost predatory edge, but Thranduil was not the predator here.

Bard tried to pull free but for some reason Thranduil held on.

“I fear I may not have made it out of the storm if not for you.” As he spoke his pulse quickened though Bard could not say way, only that it was the final straw. Thranduil’s smile turned soft as he spoke.

It then turned to shock.

Bard moaned deep and low in his throat as his teeth sunk into Thranduil’s neck. Whatever nectar the gods drank, this was better, it was intoxicating, better than anything Bard had tasted before. It was consuming.

Thranduil went tense before turning completely lax. Thranduil whimpered in his dazed state, Bard groaned and sucked a deep long pull of rich blood into his mouth.

This was not like usual, it was much more.

He wrapped his hands around Thranduil’s shoulders and dragged him impossibly closer, practically pressing them together. Thranduil was panting and pliant in his hands. Usually they struggled, Thranduil had a hand buried in his hair.

Bard made a feral sound deep in his throat that he hardly recognised as coming from him, he was in a haze, Thranduil’s blood was like a drug, warm and thick and sweet as honey as it filled his mouth. Bard drank him down in long gulps. One of his hands had migrated to his wet silvery hair and was pulling at it, baring Thranduil’s neck further. Thranduil moaned decadently.

Usually Bard could not get far enough past the self-loathing to get hard, but now he was consumed and straining in his trousers.

He could smell the lust on Thranduil too.

Bard lapped at the blood on Thranduil’s neck, the two perfect puncture marks, knowing he needed to stop or he was going to take too much.

He forced his every muscle to pull back. Thranduil opened his glassy eyes and whined, dragging Bard back and rutting against him. Bard lacked the self-control not to sink back onto his neck.

He wrapped Thranduil up in his strong arms as he sucked on his neck, losing his mind on the sensation of Thranduil against him, the taste of his sweet blood flooding his senses entirely. He had forgotten the intoxication of feeling when the person he drank from wasn’t scared, wasn’t fighting. Was enjoying it with him.

It took him too long to realise Thranduil had gone completely limp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, thank you for reading! 
> 
> [Tumbletime](http://thrandythefabulous.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bard recoiled from Thranduil as if the other man had burnt him, forcing himself away from that perfect neck and the blood smeared there.

He had plastered himself against the far wall in his unfortunately very small bedroom. The smell of Thranduil’s perfect blood was still wrapped around him, the aroma stroking at his predatory instincts and coaxing him, _begging him,_ to come back and finish what he started. And god Bard wanted to, but there was also nothing he wanted to do less in the world.

He knew Thranduil was still alive. Just. His breathing was laboured and worryingly slow, the pulse of his blood was sluggish despite its continued allure. The reality of how close he had come to killing Thranduil was a swift way of killing the arousal that had grown while feeding.

But Bard had more control than that, he had let it go for a moment there, so unused to the sensation of the other person enjoying it. He had been alone for so long he had almost forgotten that it could be like that. Now he remembered. That was dangerous, snatching bites from passing strangers who struggled and tried to scream was because blood was a necessity. The way Thranduil reacted reminded Bard that it could also be a heady drug.

Bard forced himself to take hold of his long won self-control, it was harder to do than it had been in centuries, but still he managed it and slowly relaxed from against the wall. Careful to keep an iron grip on his control Bard steadily walked the few paces across the room and to Thranduil’s side. He needed to help him, get him on the mend quick, but if he moved fast he risked his control slipping again and that certainly wouldn’t help the beautiful lord lying on his bed.

Thranduil was no longer the ethereal moonlight pale he had been when they met on the road, now he had turned almost sheet white, all traces of colour gone from his features, even his plump red lips were paled. But he was not dead and he was not going to die.

But now came the hard part. Bard steadied himself and rested his hands either side of Thranduil’s shoulders, lowering his head back to Thranduil’s neck to clean the wound, lapping at it with his tongue and fighting tooth and nail to retain his control as that intoxicating flavour of Thranduil’s blood invaded his senses once more. But he resisted the almost overpowering urge to _bite_.

Something he had discovered early on in this cursed second life of his, was that for whatever reason, his saliva had healing properties, although he had never tried it on anything other than his own bites. If he lapped and cleaned at the wound it would be almost healed in the morning. His victims would regain their usual colour and blood faster as well. Bard wasn’t sure why, but he was glad of it, especially now when without it Thranduil would take far more than a night to heal at all, let alone all but completely.

Bard was digging his nails into his palm, using the dull pain to centre himself and hold on to something other than the taste in his mouth, and when he was finished licking at Thranduil’s neck he managed to pull back and move away.

Thranduil made a quiet, almost sleepy, grumbling sound and a hand lazily swiped out in an attempt to grab Bard’s hand. Bard moved out of the way of Thranduil’s hand easily, it scared him how happy he would be to climb onto the other side of that bed and curl up with the other man. But not since Greece had lying with another man been anything looked kindly upon, and in the morning when he was free from his lust addled state of mind, Thranduil might well not take too kindly to another man in his bed. There was no way to tell. And these days no easy way to find out either.

So Bard tucked Thranduil under the sheets of his unused bed and left the room, there was no candle to extinguish as Bard had not needed one to see in the dark.

Bard settled into the living room, tuning into the sounds of the humans sleeping in his house, careful to keep an ear out for any irregular breathing from Thranduil, but his pulse was getting steadily stronger as the night went on.

Bard was not sure what the morning would bring, after being drained like he had been Thranduil probably would not wake until the afternoon, that would give him time to explain to the children what had happened. He would be honest with them, that was the only way he could be, if he began lying to them now it would only escalate. The children were good at not making him feel ashamed, although this was a different scenario to usual, if there was any usual for them.

It was in that strange clam that came only when everything else was asleep that Bard allowed himself to think about how he felt. It was strange, he noticed the tingling in his veins, how aware he felt of everything around him, how much brighter things seemed. Like he was putting on glasses for the first time in his life.

He both craved another drink from the snowy neck upstairs and felt more sated than he had in his life, or at least, for as long as he could really remember. He knew that he needed to get Thranduil out of his house and somewhere he would never see him again quickly tomorrow, or it would not take long for him to get addicted. He didn’t want to know how to find Thranduil, or where he lived, he did not want to know where the temptation lived in case in a state of lust-filled hunger he subconsciously went hunting for him.

A traitorous thought came unbidden into Bard’s thoughts. He could feed from him every other day and Thranduil need never even know about it, he could take the memories away, make it like he was never there. He could have what he wanted. Bard forced the thought away the moment it formed. He would not do that, no only was it dangerous, but it felt so much dirtier than just biting strangers and letting them go. He found himself not wanting to lie to Thranduil.

He wanted him to offer up his blood freely.

But that was but a distant wish, Bard was all too aware that it would not be a reality.

He would send Thranduil home in the morning and sincerely hope that he never came across the temping blonde with the overwhelming blood ever again.

For some reason that seemed like a distant wish as well.

The night passed and near half seven he started to hear the sounds of the children stirring in their rooms, so he moved into the kitchen and began a breakfast for them, unsure if he should set anything aside for Thranduil, even though he was all but certain they would not be seeing the lord before lunchtime.

“Good morning da.” Sigrid smiled, coming around to help him with the food, she was still better than he was, but then, he had an eternity to hone the skills, she only had one short lifetime.

“Good morning darlin’.” Bard smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, she was always cheering in the mornings, unlike her sibilings, who looked half asleep as they probably would for the next couple of hours as well.

Tilda and Bain offered little grunts of good mornings and sat down at the table as Bard and Sigrid brought the breakfast foods over.

“There is something I need to tell you all. Last night did not go as expected.” Bard admitted, getting the attention of all three children, although Sigrid and Bain both had a look distant in their eye that said clearly ‘please don’t have killed anyone’.

“Oh?” Sigrid asked, going for casual and just about managing it.

“I came across a Lord Thranduil Oropherion in the night. It was stormy and his horse reared and bolted, I managed to catch him but he twisted his ankle badly in the stirrups first. I brought him back here, he is upstairs asleep in my room.” Bard explained, Sigrid and Bain seeming relieved that he was alive, Tilda just looking her usual curious self.

“When do you suppose he will rise?” Bain asked, he was a clever boy he knew there was more to the story yet, it was a gentle way of asking though, Bard appreciated it.

“Not until the afternoon I imagine.” Bard grimaced. “I didn’t mean to, but I took too much. I hadn’t meant to take any at all, but sometimes I – ” Bard struggled for words but then there was a soft hand on his and he realised he didn’t need it.

“It’s okay and he is okay. We understand.” Sigrid assured him, and it was exactly what Bard had needed to hear, relaxing him easily, she offered him a smile and he returned it gratefully.

“What will you do when he wakes?” Bain asked, some sort of recognition flickering in Sigrid’s eyes at the same time and her speaking before Bard could answer.

“Lord Thranduil Oropherion? Of Greenwood Hall?” Sigrid asked, recognising the name of the lord closest to them and the town, Bard continued to hope that Thranduil would have little reason to associate with commoners and he might be able to avoid the temptation of ever seeing him again.

“Aye that’s the one. And I guess I will send him on his way when he wakes.” Bard shrugged, going for nonchalance and probably failing.

“Da. He’s a lord and we can’t offer him so much as a horse.” Sigrid pointed out, frowning gently at Bard.

“Yes?” Bard replied, wondering what the question there was.

“You can’t just push him out the door and tell him to be on his way. He’s a lord.” She stated again, and she probably had a point, but Bard really was desperately trying to limit his own contact with the man as much as possible, for his own personal sanity and Thranduil’s life.

“He’s a grown man I’m sure he can find his way.” Bard answered, receiving a glare from Sigrid.

“I’m inclined to agree with Sigrid.” Bain chipped in around his mouthful of food.

“But – ” Bard started meekly. “It’s sunny out?” He tried.

“Don’t like you know the day is as grey as yesterday.” Sigrid rolled her eyes, and okay that was a bad attempt at lying from Bard.

“Fine.” Bard sighed. “I will accompany him back to his hall.” That was more of a grumble than a sigh.

“Good.” Sigrid smiled, happily returning to her breakfast, she was scarily like her mother sometimes. Bard loved it.

“What’s he like?” Tilda piped up, now that the conversation was over, probably having admirably help her question in throughout it all.

“He’s, well. I didn’t get to know him much. I think he’s clever though, with a tongue to match.” Bard answered, blushing at the memory of the other things he had noticed about Thranduil.

“Da why are you blushing?” Sigrid asked, sly look on her face.

“He’s very pretty.” Bard grumbled under his breath, his children giggling and beaming at him, their mother had been very careful never to teach them to hate.

“Really?” Tilda asked excitedly. “What’s he look like?” She demanded and Bard quickly checked Thranduil’s breathing with his ears to make sure the other ma was fast asleep and most definitely not listening. 

“He’s tall and has this long silvery blonde hair that looks like it should be impossible. And his skin is pale but beautifully so, not unhealthy look, well. Not usually unhealthy looking.” Bard grimaced at himself again, the usual guilt creeping over him. “I’m not sure how to describe him really. You’ll have to see for yourself.” Bard smiled, not fancying telling his children how kissable his lips were or how delectable his neck was, or how delicious his blood was, and most certainly not divulging what he had sounded like when Bard bit him – that was something the children would be most glad for not knowing, he was sure.

Positive in fact.

“Okay.” Tilda sighed, impatient as ever as all children seemed to be.

When they had finished their breakfast Bard spend the morning giving them their lessons, teaching each of them how to read and write, knowing it put them at an advantage in this day and age, not many could read and write, Bard had had a very long time to learn, he knew many tongues. They also did their numbers and he taught them a few instruments if they wanted. It was fairly relaxed, most children in their station would get no education to speak of, Bard was glad to be able to provide them with one.

It was a few hours past noon when he started to hear movement upstairs, coming from his own bedroom. He informed the children that their guest was awake and went upstairs too find him, hoping he was not in too bad a state and that the puncture marks on his neck had healed over so that they were barely visible.

“Enter.” Came that deep, satiny voice when Bard knocked on the door, pushing it open at the other man’s reply.

“I wanted to see how you were faring.” Bard said, which was neither a lie not the whole truth, he was glad to see Thranduil’s neck had healed, though he still looked pale and a little light headed.

“I admit that I feel more than a little hazy.” Thranduil answered, massaging his temples. “Almost as if I drank far too much wine last night, only it is a much pleasanter version of the sensation. I feel oddly sated.” He explained vaguely and Bard forced himself not to blush, remembering thranduil’s reaction to his bite. “What happened last night?”

“You turned your ankle and your horse bolted, the storm was getting worse so I brought you back here. After you dried off you went to sleep.” Bard half-lied, he did a lot of half-lying.

“I remember all that. It’s the going to sleep I am having trouble remembering.” Thranduil explained and Bard realised that subconsciously last night he must have washed away some of his memories, so used to doing so after a feed, he was glad of it though, easier than having to do it now.

“You uh, hit your head. You fell on your sore ankle, insisting you could stand on your own and promptly failing to do so.” Bard lied entirely that time, trying to explain the gap in the lord’s memories, adding a teasing note to his voice and hoping that either through amusement or outrage at his impropriety Thranduil would accept it as the truth.

“You caught me so deftly in the black of night while I fell from my rearing horse, but a small stumble in a room with you right at my side and I fall.” Thranduil stated, it was clear he did not believe Bard, but for some reason, Bard did not find it threatening.

“You were insisting you could stand.” Bard shrugged.

“Now it just sounds as though you let me fall to teach me a lesson.” Thranduil mused, voice almost unreadable. Bard took a risk and smirked, Thranduil made an indignant sound but looked, if anything, amused.

“Can you stand now?” Bard asked, Thranduil still sat propped up in the bed.

“Shall we find out?” Thranduil returned, offering Bard a pair of elegant hands to hold while he tested the weight on his ankle.

Bard took the offered hands, they were warm and soft and delicate in his hands, he was careful to stay away from the enticing pulse he knew thumped in Thranduil’s wrist. Thranduil held his hands in a surprisingly tight grip as he tried to stand, clearly worrying for falling, but managing to stand to his fully height and rest his weight on his foot without trouble.

“Okay?” Bard asked, Thranduil had not yet let go of his hands.

“It twinges slightly but I am sure that will pass.” Thranduil answered, voice ambivalent, taking the good with the bad. “Your hands are cold.” He added, he sounded neither concerned nor scolding, merely curious.

“Shall we see if you can walk?” Bard suggested, ignoring Thranduil’s last comment and not entirely sure what they were going to do if he could not, both loving and hating the prospect of Thranduil having to stay a day or two because of a lame ankle.

“We shall.” Thranduil replied, releasing one of Bard’s hands but holding the other in an iron grip, Bard hated how quickly the warmth from Thranduil’s hands disappeared from his own cold body.

Holding tight to one hand in case his ankle should fail him Thranduil took one step, then another, then another, each time loosening his hold on Bard’s hands and each time making Bard want to clasp his hand in his own all the harder. But Bard did not, letting Thranduil loosen his grip until there really was no need for their hands to remain joined at all, and yet they did.

“Alright?” Bard checked, sure he already knew the answer, pain had a unique acrid smell and he could sense none of it coming from Thranduil.

“I appear to be recovered.” Thranduil smiled softly and Bard felt like that smile could light up his dark soul.

“Well that is good news because we shall have to walk you home I am afraid.” Bard smiled weakly, hoping Thranduil did not take offence at this.

“You do not have a horse?” Thranduil enquired, and he was right to be confused, most houses of this size could afford to keep at least one horse, few people were without one, especially in the country.

“Horses do not like me.” Bard answered, he missed animals, he distantly remembered loving them and the companionship they brought when he was alive. Now they all knew to run from him, they could sense what he was; dangerous.

“A shame. I find you remarkably likeable. And that is a rare thing.” Thranduil commented easily, releasing Bard’s hand from his grip almost reluctantly. 

“Would you like some food?” Bard asked awkwardly, not sure how to respond to Thranduil’s comment, wondering how someone who seemed so clever could have such bad instincts. He hoped the food would relieve Thranduil’s light-headedness enough for him to make the journey home.

“I do find myself rather hungry.” Thranduil said by way of an answer and Bard led the way downstairs. “And who are these lovely creatures?” Thranduil asked, smiling as the children came into view, all of them peering at the guest.

“My children. Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.” Bard introduced, indicating to each of them in turn, Bain and Sigrid bowed awkwardly, not sure of the etiquette and Thranduil gave them a look that told them not to worry, but Tilda just had big orb-like eyes fixed on Thranduil.

“You’re right da he is really pretty.” Tilda said in awe, looking up at Thranduil.

And all of a sudden Bard envisioned having to deliberately steal away some of Thranduil’s memories after all, Tilda announcing things that men simply were not allowed to think of each other these days.

But all Thranduil did was laugh gently.

“As are you little one. You will grow to be quite the heartbreaker I imagine.” He smiled and Bard started at him in disbelief for letting the comment about his prettiness slide.

Of course he _was_ pretty, but that was just not the kind of terminology men used for each other.

Bard let Tilda monopolise Thranduil’s attention while he found some food, serving up a decent meal for Thranduil – who raised a surprised eyebrow at some of the things Bard produced – and finding some snacks for the children as well. Thranduil ate thankfully and Tilda interrogated, Bain and Sigrid joining in in a much more formal way occasionally, although they too appeared to relax around the lord surprisingly quickly.

“It is not a short walk to your Hall, we should get moving.” Bard prompted, not wanting to rush his family but wishing to get a move on nonetheless.

“Agreed.” Thranduil nodded slowly, then Tilda said her second damming sentence of the day.

“Will you come visit? Pretty please!” She asked and added, looking at Thranduil with big beseeching eyes and still playing with the ends of her hair, she had always been too fast to warm to people, but she was still only young.

“You could not keep me away.” Thranduil assured, sending Bard a look he scarcely dared to understand the meaning behind.

Thranduil ended up leaving his clothes behind as they still sodden form the night before, instead keeping some of Baard borrowed clothing on and all but ensuring that he would have to come back one day. Bard felt both delight and dread at this prospect.

“I must admit my surprise.” Thranduil started as they began their walk, Bard reminding the children of what they did not require reminding; to lock the doors and allow no one entry.

“At what?” Bard asked, walking beside Thranduil at a leisurely pace.

“The books filling your home.” Thranduil answered.

“Why?”

“Most people of your class do not know how to read.”

“Oh, and what is my class exactly?” Bard challenged, Thranduil merely shot him an amused look.

“I meant no offence. I am purely curious. Where did you learn to read?”

Greece. Bard thought idly to himself, he had learnt a lot of things in Greece when literature and art and intellect had blossomed, but that was not an appropriate response and not where he had learnt English anyway.

“A friend.” Bard answered, it was the truth, although that friend was long dead centuries passed and Bard had forced his speech to evolve with the language patterns of the time.

“Vague but sufficient I suppose.” Thranduil teased, his eyes seemed to say he knew that was not the story and he hoped he would know it one day.

“Indeed.” Bard answered and the silence that stretched for a little while was remarkably comfortable.

“I have another curiosity.” Thranduil said after a little while, Bard couldn’t help the smile it sparked and indicated for Thranduil to ask. “A lot of the foods you gave to me at lunch are not cheap, I had quite expected plain bread and maybe some cheese. I hope you did not feel the need to give me anything you had bought for a special occasion.”

Bard shrugged, unsure how to answer, he had a lot of money stored away, they only liked to appear like commoners because it was safer for him. The children would never go hungry or cold or without shelter.

“It is nothing that cannot be replaced in time.” He evaded, hoping Thranduil did not press, and his face made it clear he wanted too, but still he did not, Bard was grateful.

“Your children are charming.” Thranduil said sincerely after another companionable silence, Bard rarely felt this at ease with someone.

“Thank you, they are the light of my world.” Bard replied just as openly, it surprised himself.

“I know the feeling.” Thranduil nodded. “My son does the same for me.”

“How old?”

“Only eight, but he looks younger, slight and filled with innocence still much the same as your Tilda.”

“Aye she is only little younger, just six. What is his name?”

“Legolas.” Thranduil replied warmly, before his face and sweet scent soured a little. “I probably scared him when I did not return last night.” He almost seemed to be talking to himself.

Bard guessed Thranduil’s wife had passed, he knew somehow that he was not wrong.

More easy silence as they pushed on through the fields and country roads and Bard began to notice a gradual slowing of Thranduil’s pace, and his face growing an unhealthy pale again.

“Are you alright my lord?” Bard asked, Thranduil shot him a glance.

“Please do not call me my lord, Thranduil will suffice, at least when we are alone.” That sounded temptingly like Thranduil intended for them to be alone again in the future. “I am fairly certain you saved my life by finding me last night, so you needn’t call me ‘my lord’.”

“None of that answered my question.” Bard pointed out, smiling and with a slight tease in his voice, he got the distinct feeling that Thranduil did not like admitting weakness, not that that was strange Bard supposed for a man of the day.

“Regretfully I am beginning to wane.” Thranduil admitted. “But it matters not, for we are nearly at my hall.” Thranduil answered, which was good as it was growing cold and threatening rain again, but it did not stop Bard offering his arm and nor did it stop Thranduil from taking it.

The Hall when it came into view, was obnoxiously large as all lord’s homes were, it had creeping ivy completely covering the outside which Bard found both beautiful and eerie at the same time. He couldn’t imagine how many rooms were inside and never used, it was certainly a great many. As they got closer Bard could feel the threshold of the house trying to push him away, and unstoppable force by the time Thranduil was knocking on the grand doors.

“My lord we were so worried.” The servant who answered the door said, ushering Thranduil inside and eyeing Bard curiously before looking confused by his lords attire.

“Do not fuss Galion, I am fine.” Thranduil told the servant, although he hardly looked fine, pale and listing on his ankle. “Do come in Bard.” Thranduil invited easily and Bard physically felt the house retreat and open to him, but still he did not enter.

“I must get home.” Bard answered, taking a step back from the house, only to feel warm, graceful fingers encircling his wrist seconds later. “I need to get back to my children.”

“Of course. But can you not warm yourself a little first? Have some food.” Thranduil asked, and for a fleeting moment Bard imagined sinking his teeth back into that smooth neck and taking long pulls, he banished the unbidden image before his teeth or cock could become interested.

“Nay I am fine. But I thank you for the offer.” Bard shook his head gently, Thranduil looked disappointed, his scent took on a thicker scent that indicated it too.

“At least let me offer you a horse to speed your journey home.” Thranduil offered, fingers still loosely encircling Bard’s wrist and making him long to reach out to the man in front of him.  

“Horses do not like me.” Bard smiled. “Besides, it will not take me nearly as long to get back.” Bard teased, half the truth and half more concealment, it would take him mere minutes to get home.

“Oh?”

“Yes my lord, you walk very slowly.” Bard grinned, and Galion behind Thranduil balked at his cheek towards the lord, before looking utterly bewildered and like his lord was a changeling when Thranduil merely laughed and pouted.

“Not my fault, my ankle is injured and my head light. I could match you for speed any other day.” Thranduil protested indignantly, he was tracing absentminded patterns on Bard’s wrist, Bard tried not to notice, but his body was waking to the touch, so long without a soft touch such as this.

“I would like to see you try.” Bard returned, Thranduil’s eyes glimmering with delight at this exchange, no doubt unused to people being so free with their words around him. Bard did not know where his boldness came from, usually so good at playing his part, but he felt so drawn to Thranduil he could not help it. “But it does not change that I will reach home much faster than we got here.”

“If you truly will not accept a horse then I cannot force you.”

“It is true, you cannot.”

“I feel I could not force you to do anything at all, despite my station.” Thranduil added, almost pensively.

“That is also true.”

“Then I must let you leave.”

“Aye, you must.”

“I will be seeing you again.” Thranduil said, it sounded like a promise.

It scared and excited Bard, but he couldn’t help but smile as he left, offering Thranduil a little bow and Thranduil finally let go of Bard’s wrist.

He could feel the ghost of a warm, soft touch there for the rest of the day.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, sorry for the slightly longer wait <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for sliding off the face of the earth, uni and breakdowns do not make for good writing, anyway I seem to be back now <3 thank you for your patience <3

 

“Daaaa?” Tilda said in her sweetest voice, trailing off and making it clear she was about to ask something or wanted something.

“Tildaaaaaa?” Bard mimicked, which made her giggle, the room was darkened as the sun was out, heavy curtains hung across the windows, Bard felt bad for keeping the children in relative darkness on days like these.

“When are we going to see mister Thranduil again?” She asked, fixing Bard with her best imploring eyes.

Bard grimaced, he had really hoped she might have forgotten about him entirely, even though he knew just how likely that was in reality. The problem was that every part of his being wanted to seek Thranduil out, to find excuses to turn up at his hall or bump into him, and that was reason enough for Bard to keep well away. Each time he had gone out at night to feed he felt an almost physical pull back towards the hall that he had to force himself against violently, keeping close to the town on his hunts.

He was haunted by the memory of Thranduil melting into his touch and moaning into his bites, it made drinking from struggling, panicked people all the more sour, made him feel more guilty. There was a treacherous voice in the back of his head telling him he _should_ drink from Thranduil because at least he – albeit subconsciously – had enjoyed it rather than being scared out of his mind. 

He wondered why Thranduil had enjoyed it so. Upon his reaction Bard had recalled a time long ago when he had known that it could be enjoyable, that information previously buried under self-loathing and screaming victims. He knew the mortal had to be willing, he also knew attraction was usually a large factor in working to make the experience sensual and filled with lust and want on both sides instead of fear and forcing, but Bard pushed away the idea that Thranduil was attracted to him.

Subconsciously the lord might find him attractive, might even want him, society nowadays so used to forcing everyone to repress any attraction that was not inherently heterosexual that Thranduil might not even really realise himself that he was attracted to Bard. Or certainly he might react very badly if it was forced into his conscious mind instead, internalised homophobia was something Bard had come across in other repressed societies and he found it a very unpleasant thing to experience, for both parties.

Bard ignored the possibility that Thranduil was actively attracted to him, it complicated the situation too much and dangled a temptation in front of him that he would struggle to resist.

“I don’t know darlin’.” Bard answered eventually, choosing that instead of the ‘hopefully never’ that lingered in his mind.

It was an interesting internal dilemma, because he did want to see Thranduil again, the ghost of his warm touches mocked Bard with their memory, and he felt all the more cold and empty since losing that touch. But he knew that if he allowed himself to see Thranduil even once more his control would likely spiral out of control and he could not allow this to end badly. He was protecting Thranduil by keeping away, it was better for everyone.

“But you said I could see him again.” She pouted at him.

“Actually I am fairly sure it was Thranduil that promised not me.” Bard pointed out.

“Well don’t you want to see him again? You liked him.” She argued back, and Bard groped for some kind of response.

“It’s complicated.” Bard sighed, unable to come up with anything more sufficient and knowing he was in for some kind of interrogation when Sigrid and Bain also settled down in the cosy living room.

“So uncomplicated it.” Sigrid said, as if anything was ever that simple.

Bard struggled for words but his children fixed him with patiently waiting faces and he let out a long sigh.

“Yes, I liked him. I enjoyed his company and know I would enjoy sharing it again. But I do not trust my ability not to bite him again and that is not something I want to happen so for both our sakes I plan to avoid him to the best of my ability.” Bard explained, he was always astonished by how the children never looked on him with anything but love, they never hated him for what he was.

“Oh da you have incredibly control. I find it hard to believe you will do anything to harm him – especially if you like him – unless you let yourself get stupidly hungry again.” She told him, always frank and honest.

“I wish I had the same confidence in me.” Bard frowned, but appreciating their support nonetheless.

“Da stop being a chicken.” Tilda told him, face almost comically serious.

 “In what way am I being a chicken?” Bard asked, genuinely bemused.

“By using your strange dietary requirements as an excuse to continue to be a hermit and hide from the fact that you like someone.” Bain clarified helpfully, Bard frowned at him too, but in reality he was terrible at frowning at the children in general, it only made them titter.

“It’s not that simple.” Bard grumbled, not that he was really upset. “He might not take kindly to the attentions of another man.”

“Would just being his friend be so bad?” Sigrid asked, her face heartbreakingly sincere, she often worried aloud about Bard being lonely.

“No darlin’. It wouldn’t.” Bard admitted with a sigh, in fact he was fairly sure that being friends with the lord would be an honour and highly amusing in any normal circumstances, but for Bard it was likely to be both a blessing and a curse together, if only because he would never forget the taste of tat perfect blood filling up his senses and consuming it.

Even then and there he had to shake himself from the memory.

“Then do it. We’re tired of you being so lonely.” Bain told him, Tilda nodding along with his words.

“I’m never lonely with you three. I am less lonely than I have been in far longer than I care to admit.” Bard answered, and it was the truth, they were a light in his dark world and he had no idea what he would do when he inevitably lost them.

“That only makes us worry about you more. Because you are still lonely.” Sigrid said and Bard spared her from the information that it was easier to be lonely than to keep losing people he cared for, and he daren’t spend time around others of his kind, that always ended in some innocent person dying at his hands.

“Fine, don’t seek him out but you have to promise not to actively avoid him either.” Bain aimed at a compromise and Bard felt like a trapped rabbit, it was a strange feeling for an apex predator to experience.

“Yeah you have to promise.” Tilda insisted, prodding him in the side.

“I promise.” Bard sighed, rolling his eyes and knowing that he really did not have a choice when they children decided they were determined and teamed up together, he simply hoped that despite his words Thranduil had forgotten about him and he wouldn’t have to worry about the lord seeking him out.

They were all happy after that and Bard went back to the story he had been reading Tilda, trying to pry his thoughts back away from the enticing lord.

Bard actually found the ability to laugh at himself and his luck when the next day a letter was delivered that Bard could tell from the faint smell that lingered on the paper was from Thranduil without even needing to read it. It would seem Thranduil had rather seared himself into all of Bard’s senses.

He opened the letter and read it at the table by the kitchen.

_Dear Bard,_

_I intend to keep to my assertion of seeing you again. I was hoping you and your delightful children might be inclined to visit the hall one day soon. I can repay your kindness and hospitality with some of my own._

_I look forward to hearing from you._

_Thranduil_

It seemed they were already on a first name basis, and Bard would be a liar if he denied the spark of excitement that sent through him, a spark he immediately tried to douse in freezing cold waters of reality that said there was very little chance of any of this ending well, so it was probably best to not even let it start.

He had intended to hide the letter and omit mentioning to his children that there had been any letter at all, so of course that was the moment Sigrid came into the room, catching him letter-handed.

“What’s that?” She asked happily, coming around the table and plucking it from his hands, her eyes scanning over it as Bard regretted his life choices.

Her eyes lit up and she peered at Bard over the paper, fixing him with a thrilled grin.  Bard groaned internally and resisted the urge to thump his head down on the table repeatedly.

“What’s it say Sig?” Tilda asked, crawling her way up and sitting in Bard’s lap and squirming around trying to swipe the letter away from her sister, Bard was pretty resigned to his fate at this point, especially as an interested Bain had also made his way into the room.

“It’s from mister Thranduil, he wants us to come to the hall soon.” Sigrid told them, face and voiced filled with far too much glee.

“We can’t go.” Bard protested weakly. “Well, I suppose you lot can go if you like and I’ll just come back home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous da of course you’re coming.” Sigrid waved him off. “And before you say you can’t go in the house you’ve already been invited in.” She pointed out, waving the letter at him.  

“When can we go? Can we go today?” Tilda asked excitedly, and no, they most certainly could not go today, for one Bard had planned to feed this evening and he could only see it ending one way if they ended up at the hall.

“No not today. Soon though.” Bard answered vaguely, Sigrid’s eyes sharpened just like her mother’s used to.

“Pick a day da.” She instructed and Bard felt a bit like a fish out of water, she was far too clever.

“Friday?” Bard suggested, knowing he was trapped, the kids always made him keep his promises.

“That’s ages away.” Tilda moaned, flinging herself on the table dramatically, Bard just looked at her in utter bewilderment.

“It’s four days.” He said incredulously, a child’s perception of time really was a mystery to him.

“Fine.” She relented with a large sigh, as if she had just made a serious wartime concession, Bard smiled and ruffled her hair.

Over the next four days, Bard fed every night, he was not going to take the chance of being at all hungry when faced with Thranduil again. He knew to a certain extent that it was futile, every time he drank now as the blood was soured with his victim’s fear all he could think on was the sweet taste of Thranduil, of how he had moaned and not wanted him to stop. Still, Bard pushed the thoughts from his head and supposed that going to the hall entirely full could only help him to resist.

Tuesday and Wednesday saw more sunlight, but on Thursday the day was murky again so Bard was able to take the children into town. Tilda and Sigrid had asked for a new dress each before going up to the hall, and Bard should have known it was suspicious because they so rarely asked for anything for themselves, their true motive became clear when they spent more time picking out a new outfit for Bard than they did for themselves.

Bard sighed to himself again but was really enjoying himself as his children ran around the shop picking out beep blues for him to wear while Bard found some pretty dresses for the girls and a new outfit for Bain as well. He made up some excuse nonchalantly mentioned to the shopkeeper that they had been saving up to be able to buy these things for a long time.

Tilda was high on excitement for the rest of the day, whizzing around at home, chattering on about a million things at once and managing to make Bard tired just by watching her. Eventually he was able to wrestled her into bed with a bedtime story, Sigrid and Bain taking themselves off just a little later on and leaving Bard alone as they slept soundly.

Bard left quickly and fed for the night, wiping the memories of the man he had found wandering despite the hour, his blood had been sickly with alcohol and unsatisfying, but it would have to do, he hadn’t exactly been particularly hungry anyway.

When he reached home again he found he could not help himself and pulled his new clothes out from the box he had carried them home in. He’d had to keep the children away from all of the real finery, he could afford it of course, but he shouldn’t be able to, so it would not do to appear at the hall dressed as though he could be the owner when he was supposed to be a commoner.

Most of the outfit was black and grey, but the children had managed to talk him into a deep read waistcoat, which he would admit, he had looked rather good in. Bard looked at his unruly hair and sighed, he knew it was a bad sign that he wished to fix it, because it meant he was doing it solely for Thranduil’s benefit, but still he found himself running a comb through it, managing to neaten it up at least a little.

He didn’t bother getting undressed, he was hardly going to be doing anything which would ruin his new clothes between now and the morning, sitting on the sofa listening to the calming sounds of his children sleeping. He did however get a raised eyebrow from Sigrid when she came downstairs to help him with breakfast.

It was completely overcast once again on Friday, which meant Bard could not even beg that excuse not to go. However it also meant that the ground was muddy and they were walking in brand new clothes. Bard rolled his eyes and agreed to give Sigrid a piggy back all the way there to spare her dress, Bain managing to do the same for Tilda as they trudged along the muddy paths, at least they were not actually rained on, although it felt as though they would be walking back in it.

As the hall came into sight Bard was suddenly hit with the feeling that they should probably have told Thranduil when they were coming, but it was too late now. Besides, he got the feeling Thranduil did not have many guests so they should not be interrupting, and well, if they had to go home Bard was hardly going to protest. In fact it would be a great relief.

They put the girls down as they reached the safety of the great marble steps and Bard could feel how the house was still open to him, no invisible barrier trying to push him away from the threshold. He lifted Tilda up for her to knock with one of the great brass knockers before gently depositing her back on the floor.

The servant Bard recalled was named Galion answered the door and gave Bard a quizzical look.

“May I help you?” He asked in a voice that sounded more like ‘go away’ than what he had actually said.

“Lord Oropherion invited us.” Bard stated plainly, Galion looked surprised, it would seem that Thranduil was not exactly in the habit of inviting people to his home. “Could you please tell him we have arrived?” Bard instructed, feeling as though Galion was just going to stand there and look at them if he did not.

“Yes of course.” Galion seemed to come back to himself, though he was still fixing them with a suspicious look.

They were ushered inside and left standing there as Galion disappeared off into the house, presumably to find the elusive lord and ask him what on earth four commoners were doing in their pristine hall.

Bard was helping Tilda straighten out her pretty new dress when he was interrupted by a deep and rich voice.

“Well, don’t you all look wonderful.” Thranduil said and it could so easily have been mocking given the difference in station, but there was nothing but kindness in Thranduil’s voice.

“Da let us buy new dresses especially.” Tilda beamed at Thranduil as he came down the grand staircase to greet them.

“And they are absolutely beautiful.” Thranduil smiled, crouching down and encouraging Tilda to give him a twirl, and Bard felt almost like he had a heart again because he could be sure he felt it melt in that moment.

Thranduil also inspected Sigrid’s new dress and deemed it beautiful, as well as Bain’s new jacket before turning his attention on to Bard, his eyes seemed like they could cut through Bard right to whatever was left of his soul.

“And what about you, Bard Bowman, is this for my benefit as well?” He asked, voice slightly lower than it probably should have been and letting his fingers briefly slide down the collar of his waistcoat.  

“Merely the insistence of my children.” Bard feigned, a slight grin on his lips and Thranduil looked almost delighted at whatever little game they had decided to play today.

“Well they have done you a kindness then. It suits you perfectly.” Thranduil murmured and Bard was fairly sure he had never seen his children look so smug.

“Thank you.” Bard answered and Thranduil took a step back from him, they had been standing rather close, Bard was glad Thranduil was wearing a high collar.

“Now if it please you my son is rather keen to meet the four of you.” Thranduil informed them and Bard remembered him speaking of a little boy of eight named Legolas who was the light of his world.

They followed Thranduil through the house until they came to what was the drawing room and Thranduil opened the doors. Instantly there was a whip of blonde hair dashing across the room to meet them, grinding to a halt beside his father and staring up at the new people in his house with wide eyes.

“Ion-nín, this is Bard and his children, Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.” Thranduil introduced, encouraging the boy to emerge from behind Thranduil’s robes, which he did.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” Legolas said, gathering up the courage to smile at the new people and Bard wondered how often Legolas got the chance to meet people, especially children near his own age.

He was an exceptionally cute little boy, the long and straight blonde hair giving him away as his father’s son, although Legolas’ hair was more gold where Thranduil’s was silvery. Bard shook his hand, much to the little boy’s delight and it did not take long before all four of the children despite their disparity in age were being taken off by Legolas who seemed very excited to show them the rest of the house, which had the side effect of leaving Bard alone in a room with Thranduil, something he had been hoping to avoid.

“I see you decided that reply to my letter to give me some warning was simply too difficult?” Thranduil asked, there was a teasing edge in his voice.

“Well, if you would rather we left…” Bard trailed off, making Thranduil scowl and slap his arm lightly before settling himself in a large armchair, gesturing for Bard to take the one close by. “Besides, to deliver a letter I would have to walk here anyway. We cannot all afford people to do our bidding for us.” Bard commented, and everything between them seemed to have the edge of a tease, the kind that only felt like it was there if you wanted it to be.

“Yet you can afford a finely made waistcoat and new clothes for your children almost on a whim.” Thranduil’s voice was considering, intrigued, but not accusatory, like Bard was a puzzle he intended to figure out.

“Maybe I had some money saved up.”

“Maybe you are not what you seem.”

“You are too inquisitive for your own good.”

“You are fascinating.”

A silence stretched out between them where they seemed to do naught but watch each other, as if all the secrets might come to light simply but looking.

“How is your ankle?” Bard asked after a little while.

“Quite recovered.” Thranduil smiled, slinging one long leg over the other and stretching it out as if to inspect it. “Though I admit I am still having trouble remembering going to bed that night.”

“You hit your head.” Bard shrugged, Thranduil was watching him intently, as if he knew it was a lie he just needed confirmation.

“I could not find a bump.” Thranduil answered, Bard was both enthralled by and terrified of him.

 “Then I guess you were lucky.” Bard evaded, he couldn’t help the way his voice caught as Thranduil absentmindedly unhooked a few of his upmost buttons and loosened the collar about his neck.

“I have been having the strangest dreams since the storm.” Thranduil commented casually, rising from his chair and pouring two glasses of wine despite the fact it was not yet noon, he saw Thranduil slip something into his own goblet, but he did not put anything into the one he handed to Bard, so Bard did not mention it.

“Oh?” Bard asked, curious about just about everything concerning the man before him.

“Yes, oftentimes I find myself being bitten on the neck – is that not the strangest thing, I cannot explain it.” Thranduil explained and Bard felt himself run hot which was a rare sensation for him. “They are quite sensual dreams.” Thranduil added, as though that were a normal thing to say to a man you hardly knew.

“How strange.” Bard commented, steadying his voice from whatever shake it wanted to have.

“Can you decipher it?” Thranduil asked, he was somehow managing to sprawl elegantly in his chair, it might as well have been a throne.

“Should I be able to?” Bard answered, he probably should have just said no, but then he never did do what was best.

“I don’t know. Should you?” Thranduil said right back, voice like liquid gold, he was thoughtlessly stretching his neck back in his languid position and Bard had forgotten just how enticing it was, all pale snowy skin and intoxicating blood just beneath, Bard could hear it flowing even though he was not hungry, not his usual hunger anyway.

“I don’t see why.” Bard lied, forcing his eyes from Thranduil’s throat to his eyes, the man could not know he was practically baiting Bard with his words and movements. Still Bard was sure to keep and iron grip on his control.

Their conversation turned to other, more benign topics, but it never lost that current of something just below the surface of their words. Thranduil set out a large spread for lunch and Bard appreciated his kindness and how delighted the children were with the foods presented, but Bard hated having to eat real food, it turned bitter and vile in his mouth. But he forced some down so as not to change Thranduil’s curiosity into suspicion.

The afternoon was spent in the library, Sigrid looked like she was going to have a heart attack at the amount of books available here, putting theirs to shame, no matter how many years Bard had spent accumulating his favourites.

“Have you read this one?” Thranduil asked, sliding his delicate fingers over the spine of a book.

“I have.” Bard nodded he had read it when it first appeared to the world, Thranduil made an impressed sound. Bard found himself wanting to impress Thranduil again and again, preening at it.  

“And this one?”

“And that one.” Bard nodded, Thranduil’s eyes flickered over him.

“Surely not this one.”

“That one too.” Bard grinned, knowing he probably should not admit to all of this while wearing the guise of a normal commoner but unable to resist nonetheless.

“You speak Spanish?” Thranduil asked, he did not believe him.

Bard raised an eyebrow at his disbelief and carefully pulled the novel, _Don Quixote_ , from the shelf and opened the pages, it was written in its original Spanish and Bard read out the first line in translated English before gently returning it to the shelf. Thranduil looked at him with an expression of intrigued disbelief, before pulling another book from the shelf and handing it to Bard. It was Virgil’s _Aeneid_ , Bard almost laughed, he had actually known the poet, but he held it in and read the first line, once again translated then and there by himself into English. Next came French, then Greek, Portuguese, the list went on and Bard knew he should stop but he could not make himself do it, Thranduil’s expression was not one he would miss, he did not think he was a man usually surprised.

“Who are you?” Thranduil whispered, reaching out a hand and touching Bard’s hair as if to check he was real and not a figment of Thranduil’s imagination.

“No one important.” Bard murmured, their quiet voices made it seem to Bard like they were the only people left in the world.

“You certainly try to be. But I am afraid I cannot believe it.” Thranduil answered, his hand was resting on Bard’s chest, he made no move to remove it and Bard could not bring himself to step back either.

The fire was burning beside in the library with them and lightning was beginning to crack outside, bringing a strange juxtaposition of warm and cold light to the room, Bard could only concentrate on the way it illuminated Thranduil’s flawless skin, bathed him in contours and light. Bard was fairly certain that had Galion not chosen that moment to enter and announce that dinner was served, they might well have stood there looking at each other for an eternity.

Bard forced himself through another meal, the food increasing his want for blood, if only to remove the vile taste from his mouth, it was not helping that he could see Thranduil’s delicate wrists every time he looked up from his plate.

“We should get back.” Bard said, it was reluctant but with the way his eyes kept dragging to Thranduil’s pulse points he knew it was a necessity. Bard grimaced as a clap of thunder could be heard outside.

“Nonsense. You cannot leave in such a storm. Especially as I know you will not even accept a horse.”  Thranduil waved him away and Bard swallowed thickly at the thought of staying.

“We have to get back.” Bard said, though he knew what Thranduil’s response was going to be before he even said it.

“I have a multitude of spare rooms. You will stay until the storm passes.” Thranduil’s tone brokered no room for argument and the children all sounded excited at the prospect of being allowed to stay a little longer.

Their eyes met once again and for the first time in centuries Bard felt like trapped prey.

It was ironic, after all, he was not the one in danger from his staying the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the extended wait, I hope you enjoyed the chapter <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's overdue but I am finally making good on my promise that I had not abandoned this fic, updates should be fairly regular now, esp as I have a rough plan and know it should only be four more chapters. Sorry about the wait! <3

 

 

The storm clamoured on outside as Bard put his children to bed. Thranduil had been most generous with his house, allocating the children a room each, far grander than anything they had known, when he could have easily put them all in a room together. Bard supposed that from what he had seen so far, this was not actually particularly surprising.

Although from the looks of his servants, just about every action of their lord since Bard’s arrival had been surprising. That only convinced Bard all the more that it was vital to put some distance between himself and Thranduil. Both literally and figuratively. Or he was going to do something they both would regret.

But at that thought the treacherous voice was back in his head, telling him that Thranduil didn’t even need to know, he could drink from him a few times a week, take away the memories and Thranduil would be none the wiser. And wasn’t it _better_ to feed from Thranduil really, someone who hadn’t struggled to get away, someone who had _wanted_ it, however subconsciously. Surely that was better than attacking terrified passers-by?

Bard forcefully pushed those thoughts away. No. It was better that it was strangers and better that it was never the same person twice. He would never want to put someone through it more than once, no matter how they seemed to enjoy it. Bard reminded himself that just because Thranduil had subconsciously seemed to enjoy being fed from, that was quite different from actual consent. He felt sure that if Thranduil knew what Bard had done to him the lord would be hunting him right now instead of welcoming him into his home.

His home. Bard did not know how he was going to survive the night here. The entire hall was thick with Thranduil’s intoxicating, sweet scent. It made him want to pull Thranduil over to him and sink his teeth back into that snowy neck. It became harder to resist with each passing moment.

“You seem veritably lost in thought, my dear Bard.” Thranduil’s deep voice spoke and roused Bard from his musings, stood as he was just outside Tilda’s door for the night. Bard gave him a smile though he could feel it was strained, as Thranduil could no doubt see. He steeled his nerve as Thranduil closed the gap between them, stood far closer than propriety would allow, undeniably intimate in the dark and empty hallway. Bard could hear Thranduil’s arteries thumping with blood. Bard steeled his resolve. “What would I not give to know what thoughts consume you.” He murmured, before continuing with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that was so full of life that Bard wished to bottle it up so as to never lose it. “What would I not give to _be_ the thought that consumes you.”

“What makes you so sure you are not?” Bard asked, forcing himself to speak and keeping his voice even. His response visibly delighted Thranduil, his face lit up. Bard wanted to be the cause of his lighting up again and again. “Can you read my thoughts?”

“Alas no, I cannot. Though I cannot deny I would give almost anything to be able to.” Thranduil answered, and Bard was reminded again of how close they were as Thranduil reached slowly towards his face and trailed an elegant finger over Bard’s forehead and down past one temple. His wrist was so close to him. Bard ruthlessly tamped down the part of himself that wanted nothing more than to grab hold of that wrist and never let go.

“I assure you my thoughts are not that intriguing. I am not sure what has you so fascinated.” Bard said as Thranduil lowered his hand slowly, as if deep in thought himself. Bard attempted to subtly put some more distance between them, for the sake of his own sanity.

“You are an enigma, no matter how I try I cannot seem to figure you out. It has been a very long time since I met someone who had me so completely enrapt. You have captivated me, Bard Bowman, and that is a very rare thing.”

“I would not wish keep you captive.” Bard swallowed thickly, it was a lie as much as it was the truth. He never wanted to let Thranduil go, he wanted to pin him to the wall and bite into his skin, he wanted to never be bereft of him. But he wanted Thranduil to come willingly. An idle fancy of course. Thranduil could never be willing because he would never know the truth. And should he know the truth, he would simply never be willing.

“Not even if I wanted to be?” Thranduil answered, his voice set low and suggestive, at least to Bard’s ears. He could of course simply be hearing what he wanted to hear.

“No one would want that, my lord, not truly, not with all the information.” Bard had a tight smile again and begun walking down the corridor, he was not sure which of them was leading, but they seemed headed to the grand library.

“Thranduil please, there is no need to stand on ceremony here.” Thranduil rankled at the use of his title, Bard’s attempt to distance himself at least a little.

“The reactions of your servants would seem to disagree.”

“Indeed. I have never before permitted someone such liberties with formality before now.”

“So why do you allow me?”

“Like I said, you have captivated me. I would allow you much.” Thranduil replied, Bard wondered just how much he meant, he wanted to test the limits of that liberty. “Would you allow me such liberties in return?”

“You are the lord here, not I. There is nothing I could refuse you.” Bard evaded, society already demanded that he answer the call of those above him, especially one so elevated as Thranduil, in that regard he had no liberty here.

“You know that is not of what I was referring.”

“There is nothing I could refuse you.” Bard repeated, without such an evasion this time. It was the truth, he feared.

Thranduil’s eyes twinkled again, Bard wondered if he had spent much time looking at the stars as a boy, for he seemed sometimes to have caught them in his eyes.

“A tempting truth.” Thranduil murmured, almost as if he did not mean to say it aloud. Bard inwardly laughed a sardonic laugh, Thranduil was not the one face with temptation here.

They reached the doors of the library, and Bard wondered if he should not feign tiredness and escape to the solitude of one of the bedchambers, it seemed an unnecessary torture to allow himself to be shut in a room alone with Thranduil, all the rest of the house already gone to bed. He let Thranduil usher him inside.

“Drink?” Thranduil asked, indicating towards two goblets and a pitcher of wine. Bard nodded despite not being fond of the taste.

Despite his subtlety, Bard saw Thranduil drop something into his drink once again. However, he did not tamper with Bard’s own. So once again he said nothing of it. Though something about the action needled at him. As if it held some importance that Bard did not yet know of.

He dismissed the thought and accepted his goblet with a nod of thanks.

He selected a book from the vast collection almost at random, Dante’s _Divine Comedy_ , Bard had never found it particularly funny. He wondered which circle of hell he was destined for. The deepest, he feared. It was in the original Italian, Bard did not mind, he had picked up many languages over the years. He saw the flicker of curiosity as Thranduil catalogued yet another fact about Bard before settling himself in one of the plush armchairs and turning his attention to the book.

Perhaps it might have seemed rude, to practically ignore his host in favour of a book he has read many times, but he could feel those blue eyes on him as he read, and he knew Thranduil would not hesitate to say if he wanted his attention back. Bard’s attention was never entirely on the novel in his hands anyway. How could it be when all he could hear was the rhythmic _thump thump thump_ of Thranduil’s pulse, when all he could smell was all that ivory skin and sweet natural scent, when all he could think about was how his blood had tasted, how it had felt to have him clutching at his shoulders as he fed from a partner filled with lust instead of fear. It was impossible.

Thranduil might claim to be captivated, but Bard was consumed.   

Long moments passed as Bard attempted to drown out everything that was Thranduil, even though he knew it was futile.

Thranduil was watching him, Bard was not sure whether it was that innate human instinct to know when you are being watched, or his predatory senses that told him so. It was a comforting thought to him, that some of his instincts might yet be human, but deep down he knew it was the predator inside of him that told him he was being watched. It did not make him uncomfortable, however, which was surprising. Bard had not been comfortable with close scrutiny for an extremely long time, as if were anyone to look upon him long enough, they would see all of his dark secrets laid bare.

Yet when it was Thranduil, he did not mind. Maybe he would not like being laid bare for this lord. But that was a mere fantasy, Bard knew this. Still, he let him look his fill. Bard could tell it would not be long before Thranduil was not satisfied with merely looking.

Sure enough only another ten minutes passed before Thranduil spoke, his words murmured, as if he was reluctant to break the silence, as if he hardly knew he was speaking aloud.

“There is still something about that night.” Thranduil was almost looking through him, Bard did not respond as it had not seemed to be a question, though he tensed, instantly knowing which night the lord was referring to. The silence stretched for a few minutes more before Thranduil spoke again, his words still soft and musing, though Bard could tell they were now directed at him, he expected an answer this time. “Something I think you are not telling me.”

“I am not sure what you mean.” Bard responded, attempting to sound far more nonchalant than he was feeling. He closed the book gently, sensing he would be getting no more reading done this evening. He held it in his lap, to keep his hands occupied with something other than reaching out to what was not his.

“Something happened that you are keeping from me.”

“Nothing that I can recall.” Bard lied, he had many years of practice at the art.

“Yet I know there is. So why do you keep it from me?” Thranduil pondered aloud, he did not seem to be angry despite his conviction, which was odd. His piercing blue eyes were trained unerringly on Bard, Bard resisted the urge to squirm where he sat, and pulled a cloak of feigned relaxation over his limbs. “For your own sake, perhaps? Or for mine.”

“What makes you so sure I am keeping anything from you?” Bard asked, affecting mild offence at the accusation.

“I find myself having dreams, as I mentioned to you earlier.” Thranduil explained, Bard recalled the brief conversation.

“I am not sure if ‘I find myself having dreams’ is really grounds for an accusation, let alone a conviction.” Bard joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Thranduil barely seemed to notice his attempt at humour and simply continued to study Bard with those eyes.  

“They feel as though they belong in those moments which I cannot remember, the time between you helping me upstairs and falling asleep.”

“I simply put you to bed.” Bard lied again.

“The dreams I have; they are…well. I wonder if perhaps you stay quiet in an attempt to spare my dignity. My reputation. Or perhaps you simply wish to save us both embarrassment. Though I must thank you, for your kindness and your discretion. Though I would have my lapse in memory filled, however disreputable the reality.” Thranduil continued, Bard was unsure what he was now speaking of. Thranduil brushed his hair back with an elegant hand and unwittingly bared the small part of his neck not concealed by his attire. Bard had never seen anything more enticing.

“Now I am truly lost.” Bard swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes away from Thranduil’s neck.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Still, if you would elaborate I might understand.” Bard answered, knowing he should be attempting to change the subject of conversation, not encourage it.

Thranduil watched him and seemed to contemplate for a long stretch of moments before he decided to speak. It became clear to Bard why he had hesitated so long.

“You are in the dreams; they are…unseemly.”

Thranduil’s face was inscrutable, but his heart was thumping louder, he was nervous. Or anticipatory.

“Unseemly how?” Bard asked, his voice had dropped lower in register, his hands were clenched into fists trying not to grab, to _take_ , he knew what Thranduil had meant.

Thranduil’s pulse quickened, his eyes dilated. He knew that Bard was aware of what he meant. They both wanted to hear him say it. Bard wanted him to _describe_ it.

“I am abed, you are leaning over me and…” He trailed off and licked his lips. Bard’s throat went dry.

“And…?” Bard couldn’t help himself, Thranduil’s ice blue eyes were ablaze with want, he felt heat in his soul for the first time in centuries.

“You kiss my neck. Nay, you _bite_ it.” Thranduil continued, at some point Bard had risen, he hardly noticed, may have move with inhuman speed for all he was conscious of the movement, Thranduil’s eyes were fixed on him and displayed no surprise however.

“I bite your neck?” Bard’s breath was hovering over Thranduil’s neck, his hands gripping the high back of his grand armchair, caging the lord in. He took a deep breath and drowned in Thranduil’s scent, forcing his fangs to stay retracted with his every fibre.

“Yes.” Thranduil gasped, either in answer or because of Bard’s lips dragging over the small amount of exposed skin high on his neck.

“And?” Bard prompted again, one hand dropping down to work at the fastenings of Thranduil’s collar. He was surprised he could even hear Thranduil’s words over the thumping of his blood so close to his neck, but hear his words he did, and they served to intoxicate him further.

“You pin me to the bed.” Another gasped response as Bard loosened and pushed his high collar out of the way, kissing a dangerous path down Thranduil’s exposed neck.

“With my hands?” Bard asked, speaking the words into Thranduil’s skin. “Or with my body?”

“Both.” Thranduil whimpered as Bard started sucking at his collarbone. Bard’s fangs elongated and scraped against the delicate skin there and Thranduil moaned. Bard pulled his mouth away, forcing his fangs back and trying to put some space between them but Thranduil’s hands whipped up and tangled into his hair, urging Bard towards his plump red lips.

Physically Bard could have resisted the hold. But in reality he was helpless against it.

Thranduil kissed him with a fervour and for just a second, Bard felt he was the one at risk of being devoured. Thranduil kissed like he had been stranded in a desert and Bard was the first water he had seen in weeks. He kissed like a dying man.

Bard matched Thranduil’s desperation with his own. Desperation to bite, to kiss, to feel warmth and love again. Bard was not entirely sure which one was most prominent, only that they all blurred together and amalgamated into an insatiable need to _have_.

Bard barely noticed as one of Thranduil’s usually so deft hands started fumbling with the fastenings of his clothes, too busy with the sumptuous mouth beneath his. Thranduil tasted like sunlight and starlight mixed together. Bard kept his fangs retracted, hating that it meant he had to sacrifice any concentration on anything other than Thranduil, but knowing the necessity of it. He caught Thranduil’s lower lip impossibly carefully between his blunt teeth and tugged on it, revelling in Thranduil’s whimper as the lord surged back up to meet his lips fully again.

“Oh.” Thranduil gasped as his fingers found Bard’s skin, leaving shocks of heat in their path, a warmth which dissipated far too fast. “You’re cold.” It did not deter him, more seem to fascinate, another oddity to add to his intrigue over Bard.

“You’re warm. You’re like light.” Bard murmured into Thranduil’s soft mouth, he got the feeling Thranduil would usually laugh at such an intangible comment, but he did nothing but melt further under Bard.

“I want you.” Thranduil whispered, like it was a secret, like it wasn’t utterly obvious at this point, like Bard didn’t want him even more.

Bard growled at the words anyway, nipping at Thranduil’s lips, lucky not to draw blood, as Thranduil’s clever fingers slid further under his undershirt and found one of Bard’s nipples.

He wanted to bite Thranduil, to drink from him. He wanted them to enjoy it together. He wanted to be a lover not a monster. He could feel Thranduil’s entire body thrumming with life. Such a sweet nectar to something as dead as Bard. Not in his hungriest moments had Bard ever felt a desperation, a _need_ as strong as this to bite. It was growing ever harder to resist.

Bard growled low in his throat as Thranduil’s exploratory hands roamed to the growing bulge in his pantaloons, squeezing him through the fabric. It had been so long since Bard had known intimacy he could not help his reaction. He pulled his moth from Thranduil’s as he was helpless against the extension of his fangs, the want coursing through nullifying his ability to control them.  

Thranduil whined at the loss of Bard’s attentive mouth, still unaware of the monster Bard was fighting against every second. He squeezed Bard’s hard cock through his trousers again in protest and Bard growled and leant down to lick and suck at the area exposed skin at his collarbone and chest. He tasted like light.

His fangs scraped maddeningly against Thranduil’s skin, leaving little red lines in their wake but never quite breaking the skin, no matter how much he wanted. It was only a matter of time, he was paying a dangerous game and he knew it. He couldn’t help it. Thranduil started making needy little whines and in a flash Bard had Thranduil pinned to a nearby bookcase. He should not have moved so fast. But in his daze Thranduil hardly seemed to have noticed.

Bard tore at Thranduil’s clothes until they hung at his shoulders but his torso was bare for Bard’s hands and lips to traverse. He tasted like the woods on a fresh spring morning.

He tasted like life.

Thranduil’s hands clawed at Bard’s back as Bard started attacking Thranduil’s breeches, ripping at them until they hung from his hips. Thranduil was hard and leaking through his small clothes. Without so many layers between them his scent was thinker than before, even more consuming. Bard buried his face in the nape of Thranduil’s neck and breathed in deep and greedy as he slipped his hand inside Thranduil’s smalls. Thranduil made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan and Bard was hungry to hear is again. He was hungry for a lot of things.

“B-bard.” Thranduil panted. “Bard, I want _oh_.” Thranduil broke off as Bard hoisted him up, those long legs wrapping around Bard’s waist.  

“What do you want?” Bard barely recognised his own voice.

“You. Anything. _Everything_.” He should be careful what he wished for.  

Bard rolled his hips in a tight, close circle, pressing against Thranduil and giving them both delicious friction, Thranduil moan again, this time tipping his head back and baring his neck in a submissive gesture he probably was not even aware he was making. His silver blond hair fell back out of the way and Bard did not have the strength left in him to resist.

His mouth was back on Thranduil’s neck in a heartbeat, sucking right at his heady pulse point as he teased himself with the satisfaction he was about to be filled with. Thranduil was lost to the world, moaning and whimpering freely as Bard ground them together with his hips.

If Bard had a shred of control left then it was why he had not already bitten down on the succulent neck beneath his teeth. But then Thranduil begged, a broken plea of “ _please”_ and he did not know what he was asking for, but Bard was lost.

Bard sunk his teeth into Thranduil’s neck and was undone as Thranduil’s blood flooded his mouth and all his senses.

His blood was rich with lust and Thranduil cried out with a strangled wail of “ _yes!”_ and his blood sweetened all the more as he rutted against Bard and hurtled towards climax. Bard knew only his taste in that moment. The intense mixture of lust and hunger and emotion that drinking from a willing, nay, _wanting_ partner caused leaving Bard out of his mind with desire for more.

Bard drank greedily, long deep drags of blood from Thranduil’s neck as it pulsed into his mouth with the frantic beating of his heart. He knew absently that Thranduil was close, as much as he was able to know anything other than bloodlust and desire in that moment, he knew because he could feel as his heart rate rose higher and higher as the blood pumped faster and faster into his rapacious mouth.

Almost without conscious thought Bard snaked a hand between them and into Thranduil’s smalls once more, barely needing to touch his wanton partner before he was spilling into Bard’s hand as well as his mouth.

Thranduil panted his completion, but Bard did not stop.

How could he. His world had narrowed to the willing body beneath him and the blissful nectar flowing onto his tongue. Bard wanted this always, every day, every moment of every day. He wanted to live inside this moment and never have to leave, he wanted to make love to Thranduil and rut like animals and drink only from him, he wanted to be only Thranduil’s forevermore, he wanted–

There was a sound, one not borne of pleasure, but instead of pain, distress. Of the beginnings of fear.

It took a moment for the sound to register in Bard’s fogged mind. When it did he tore himself away from Thranduil and threw himself to the opposite side of the room.

Thranduil crumpled to the floor, weak from his climax and the blood loss, his eyes glazed but not empty. Bard could tell by his pallor that he had not taken enough to truly harm. Only enough to scare.

He had scared him. Just as he should have, he was a monster after all.

Thranduil’s dazed eyes searched for him. Bard snatched his memories, only a minute or two’s worth, he should have taken more, but he was already fleeing into the storm. He could not turn back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, sorry again about the wait! I can quite confidently say it will not happen again. I love you all and as always comments and kudos are the world to me <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than usual, but I didn't want to drag it out with uninteresting filler

 

 

Bard drove himself forwards into the night, he barely even noticed the storm that was still raging around him as he ran away Greenwood Hall. He knew he had already covered miles even in just the few minutes it had been since he took flight, the town was already fading into the distance. Still Bard continued to run, wanting to put an impossible distance between himself and the hall between himself and what had just happened.

He could still taste Thranduil in his mouth, the divine flavour of lust laced blood lingering in a way that made him want to tear out his tongue because even with what had just happened Bard wanted _more_.

Bard recalled Thranduil’s whimper of distress, the beginnings of pain and panic setting into him. He remembered it and _still_ he wanted more. The dark part of himself that he tried to deny had not wanted to stop, it had only wanted to take and take and take.

He knew that all he should have been able to feel in that moment was guilt and worry and all that he should have been thinking was of how to keep Thranduil safe from himself. And that was what he thought and felt, but there was another part of him, and small, selfish, predatory part of him that just wanted _more_. No matter the consequences, no matter the pain it might cause.

If he hadn’t been certain he was a monster before, he knew he was now.

Even if it was only a small part of himself, it was enough. It had been enough.

Because of it Thranduil was collapsed on the floor, pale and scared and Bard had run like the coward he was. He had not wanted to face the reality of what he had just done, what he had almost done for the second time. A total of three days spent with Thranduil and he had already lost control twice. He could not risk it again, he would not risk it, for Thranduil’s sake more than his own. He was too precious, too light to be lost to someone, _something_ , like Bard.

Bard finally stopped running, dropping to his knees and fisting his hands into his own hair and yelling out into the darkness, an incoherent noise of frustration and self-hatred.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough for the rain to soak through his clothes and onto his already cold skin. He remembered the warmth of Thranduil’s skin, how warm it made Bard feel just to be around him. It made him feel sick to know he would never have that again. How could he go back after this?

Bard was angry, the hatred he felt for himself in that moment unparalleled by anything he had ever felt before. He did not anger easily; he had lived for far too long to get angry at much anymore. But now he was furious. Despite the rain and the cold, blood was still thumping through him, his body still riding a high his mind no longer felt from the blood and the sex, leaving him wanting to hunt and fuck in a way he hadn’t felt since his first days as this creature.

The thing that lived in his skin wanted to rut and feed no matter what price of life might have to be paid for his choices, refusing to give in to it was making everything inside of him build up until it was ready to boil over. He needed to find an outlet for it that didn’t involving hurting anyone. Anyone else. He had already hurt someone after all.

It was enough to make Bard angrier than he had felt in a very long time.

He could barely think over the need for _something_ to take the edge off coursing through his veins, every shred of willpower he had left was being spent holding back the dangerous part of him that was clawing at the surface, fuelled by frustration of an unfinished hunt and an unsatisfied arousal, Bard’s anger at himself the only thing holding it back.

He then did something else had had not done in a very long time, and he blacked out.

It was something that he had not done since he was a fledgling, unable to control himself or his appetites. He would wake up covered in blood. They were memories that still haunted him, centuries later.

He could guess at why it had happened again now. He had denied himself satisfaction for so long, it had been centuries since he last slipped and fed as his body craved, and it had been longer still since he had last dared to take a lover that Thranduil’s taste and unbridled lust had overwhelmed him entirely, so much so that when he denied himself so close to the completion of both his base and darker desires, the creature inside him had rebelled.

Bard was only glad he had gotten far enough away from the hall that he did not wake to find himself there.

When he became aware again and could feel himself coming too, Bard did not want to open his eyes. He knew the damp he could feel on his clothes and skin would be blood and he knew that whatever horrors were lying around him would be his fault and his alone. SO for a while, he did not open his eyes at all.

When he finally did he did not see what he expected. The damp he felt on his skin was residue from the rain he had been out in, still not dried on his cold skin and soaked into his clothes. He was not outside anymore though, he could still hear the storm raging outside, but he was under shelter. As he looked around, his enhanced senses enabling him to see through the darkness, he noticed wooden beams, splintering from age, a thin carpet of damp rotting hay and wooden walls that groaned in the storm.

He was in some kind of barn, but there was no livestock and looked likely to be abandoned. He had no idea what had drawn him in here, so unable to recall what had happened between being out in the storm and waking up here. The barn was in ruin, and not solely from its abandonment, what little there was left inside was overturned and broken, as if something had had a fight inside. Bard knew it must have been him, though he saw no trace of whatever it was he had been fighting.

The boil in his blood was sated for now, whatever he had done had burnt off the suffocating, primal need for satisfaction. It should have been a relief, instead Bard fear what he had done.

Bard stood, he knew he needed to find the remains of whatever he had hurt, because there had to be something, he feared that there was no blood because he had taken it all, every last drop, so there was not enough left to mark him with his guilt. But when Bard searched for his victim, he found nothing.

It made no sense, he could see no reason why he would have ended up in this barn were it not for the smell of some life-filled person or animal drawing him in.

But still he found nothing.

Bard wondered if perhaps he had retreated inside the barn after satisfying himself to escape the storm, but that made no sense either, he barely noticed the rain and cold, certainly not enough to retreat to shelter while frenzied.

His confusion only increased when Bard found the doors to the barn, they were barricaded shut from the inside. There were broken beams that looked purposefully if hastily barred over the doors, it would make them hard to open without careful thought. In from of the beams was a tangled barricade of debris, most of it was broken, as if frantically thrown against the doors.

“Hello?” Bard called out, though he knew full well that if another person was in the barn he would already know it.

It left him with only one option, though it seemed an impossibility, that _he_ had barricaded the door.  

Bard could not fathom how, even in a black out, entirely out of his senses, he had somehow forced himself into a secluded barn and barred the door lest any tempting scent were to catch his senses and stayed there doing nought more than breaking abandoned debris to ride out his madness.

Perhaps he wasn’t a monster after all? No, Bard pushed that thought aside. He was glad that it did not seem like he had hurt anyone, but that didn’t mean that he was not dangerous. He did not know what had happened, what events led him to end up locked inside a barn, but he would not risk thinking himself anything less than what he was. Dangerous.

Regardless of what he had managed to do while unaware of himself, he had still hurt Thranduil. There was no changing that. Even if he took the memories, like he knew he should have, Bard would still know what he had done., he would still have to live with it.

He should have taken the memories.

He likely had not even taken enough to make Thranduil forget Bard had bitten him, exactly _how_ Bard had bitten him. Only snatching at a few threads of memory as he fled the hall would leave the encounter partially disjointed, but remembered regardless. Even if by some miracle Thranduil had forgotten the bite, Bard had not stayed to heal the wound, the evidence was right there on his skin.

Bard had panicked and ran, he told himself that had feared that if he stayed he would have done something irreversible, but that wasn’t true, he knew that deep down after hearing that noise of hurt, Bard would sooner stake himself through the heart than have touched him again. In honesty, Bard knew he had panicked, about what he had done, about the way it had made him feel so very _alive_ to be with Thranduil, and about the way he had wanted things that he had not wanted since he was a living thing himself.

He had given himself over not to the blood and hunger, but to the possibility of Thranduil. His smile, his laugh, his manner and countenance and sheer beauty. He had thought about a tomorrow beyond his children and he had lost himself in it.

He hadn’t lost himself in bloodlust, not that time, he had simply lost himself in Thranduil. And that had made him panic.

But Bard feared how easily he could lose himself, it should not have to take a spike of fear and whine of pain to make him stop. He should have realised sooner. He should have stopped sooner. He never should have bitten Thranduil in the first place. A beg of please in the heat of pleasure was not consent to what Bard had done.

He wanted a life with Thranduil, but Bard had no life to give.

Sat alone in the damp, abandoned shelter of the barn, Bard was at a loss for what he should do next.

He didn’t know exactly how long he had been away, but he could feel that the sun would rise soon. The storm outside was calming, the risk of the sun breaking through the clouds during the day was too high for Bard to be able to risk going to the hall in the daytime, lest he get caught in the light.

But his children were still there. He was sure Thranduil would look after them until he returned, just as he was sure that Thranduil would not allow them to leave until Bard came for them. Some mix of not being prepared to leave them alone in their own house, and wanting to make sure he had to show his face, Bard was sure. He had only known Thranduil a small time, but he already knew how shrewd the man could be. Bard like that about him.

There were countless things he already liked about Thranduil, and he knew given half the chance he would love him instead.

Bard could not risk that chance.

He would have to collect his children when the sun set again, he hoped they would understand. No, he knew they would understand, they were too good for him, they deserved better. Bard missed Madeline, she would just tell him what to do, she had always known what was best.

He would collect his children and he would leave, he would not allow himself to be drawn into Thranduil’s presence for any longer than absolutely necessary and he would certainly not permit himself to be alone with him.   

That was Bard’s plan, and he knew that going back to the hall would never happen that way.

Thranduil would either have him restrained and subdued on sight (as he likely should), or he would at the very least demand answers from Bard, and not let him leave until he got them. He was unlikely to get them.

Bard knew he could just take the memories from Thranduil, it wouldn’t be hard, he had a lot of practice in doing so. He could erase the entire encounter between them, everything, make Thranduil believe that he had gone straight to bed and never even entered the library with him.

But for some reason Bard was reluctant to do so. He didn’t want to take it away. He told himself it was so that Thranduil did not seek him out, and knew to stay away, that Bard was dangerous. But that was another lie he told himself. Truly he did not want to take them away because for a little while, before Bard had lost control, it had been _good_. And somewhere deep down a fanciful side of himself whispered, _but what if he accepts you anyway_.

Bard knew Thranduil never would, though knowing that did not chase away his reluctance to steal away the memories.

He also knew he did not want to lie any more than he already had, he didn’t want to take any more than he already had from an unwilling Thranduil. Besides, last time he took memories from Thranduil he had still known, in some sense, that something had happened. People with stronger wills were occasionally less susceptible to Bard’s retinue of mind tricks, now knowing him as he did, it did not surprise Bard that Thranduil was one of the more resilient.

He would have to go back, and he would not allow himself to take any of Thranduil’s memories.

He knew that it was unlikely that Thranduil would have jumped to the correct conclusion, he was something that belonged in tales meant to frighten children into staying in bed at night and behaving themselves. Any logical person would know that in the real world, Bard did not exist.

But Thranduil would know that there was something, he had seemed to know every before last night that there was something after all.

Whatever happened because of his actions, Bard would face it, as he should have the very first time. And this time he would not flee.

With Thranduil Bard had given in to temptation twice, he resolved that there would not be a third time.

Bard’s instincts told him that there was approximately half an hour before the sun rose, he could tell already that with the storm clearing it would likely turn into a light day. He chose to go back to his house, to wait out the daylight somewhere he knew he would be safe, making the run in less than five minutes at his unnatural speed.

The house was strange without the children. It felt empty and cold. It felt like Bard didn’t really belong there, disjointed and adrift from the world around him. The children grounded him, he did not know what he would do when they were gone from his world. He did not want to be alone again, the thought chilled his already cold, un-beating heart.

He did not know what would become of him when he was forced into solitude again, if he would bother to continue to linger on, if he would finally lose himself to the monster he was.

Bard found himself in Sigrid’s room, the curtains pulled tight over the windows in preparation for the light that was starting to break through the clouds. She would be worried about him, all three of them would be.

Bard considered, for the moment, the possibility that after seeing Bard’s true colours, Thranduil would try to protect the children from him, to pull them back from the jaws of the monster. But that did not feel right. If Thranduil knew only one thing about him, it would be that he loved his children and would walk through fire to keep them safe.

He picked up the book tucked next to her bed, one they had got from town, she had already almost finished it. Bard would buy her more.

He hoped they would not push him again, after this disaster with Thranduil he hoped that they would not try to cajole him into socialising more. He knew they worried about him, and that it came from a place of love, but it was dangerous. _He_ was dangerous. And though he would never let any harm come to any of them, they needed to see that.

Sometimes they trusted him so thoroughly and had such unwavering faith in him, that Bard almost believed them. Almost.

Towards midday the sun broke through the cloud and Bard retreated to his windowless room to ride out the day. Though he was not tired, he wished he had the ability to sleep, rest would have bolstered his nerve to face Thranduil again, it would made the moment come faster as well.

Instead Bard was forced to wait, he would return to the hall when night came and he would answer for his actions.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, but a bit of a filler chapter I know, but i didnt want to combine this and the next chapter because then it would have been waaay too long. Next chapter, Bard faces Thrandy ;) Thank you for reading! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that for some reason the last update didn't appear in the 'recently updated' A03 search until it was like ten days old, so check you didn't miss the last chapter ^^
> 
> (This chapter is far better anyway :') )

 

 

As night fell, the sun setting and the moon rising the next evening, Bard gathered his courage and set out from his home, heading towards Greenwood Hall. He had wondered if he should have prepared something to say, but he could think of nothing, he could not explain himself without revealing too much and he did not wish to lie.

All Bard could give to Thranduil was an apology for an action that he would not explain, it would have to be enough.

Bard tried to hope that Thranduil would cast him out for what he had done, vow never to see him again, to tell Bard he was no longer welcome in his home. That way he would be safe, and above all things, Bard wanted him to be safe. But meeting Thranduil had awoken something inside himself that he had long since thought to be dead.

Hope.

For the first time in an age Bard hoped for things. He hoped that Thranduil would forgive him, he hoped beyond reason and beyond logic that _somehow_ they would find a way to be together, to be safe and happy.

It had been many centuries since Bard was last fanciful enough to wish to be human again, but now he _longed_ for it. Of course he often hated what he was and resented the half-life he was forced to lead. But now he ached for his mortality again. He ached to be able to give Thranduil the life he deserved, he ached to be someone that Thranduil could love.

In some ways it made Bard impossibly sad, to finally love and hope only for things he knew he could never have. But in other ways, outlandish and hard to explain ways, it made him happy anyway. To simply know he could still feel these things reminded him that a part of him was still human, that millennia of this torment had not broken him completely, that he had in some strange way, survived it.

It made him think that perhaps it would not be so bad to die, for a part of him at least, would still die human. 

He was a danger, in many ways a monster, and he knew that he should put distance between himself and Thranduil, as he had already proven twice that his restraint dissolved to nothing with him. It would likely be the hardest thing he had ever done, but he would do it, he would do it because in his heart he was still human. He would not tell him the truth, for to see hatred, revulsion, _fear_ , in Thranduil’s eyes was something he could not stomach. But he would take himself away from Thranduil, out of the equation entirely, take away the chance of him hurting Thranduil.

And though it hurt Bard to think of never seeing Thranduil past this day, it also gave him comfort, for it also made him human.

Perhaps Thranduil would try to accept him as he was, but Bard knew he should not. And that was what mattered. If Bard had to make the decision for the both of them he would. He already found it hard to refuse the lord anything, but in this, he would. He knew the darker parts of himself and he did not trust them not to harm Thranduil.

So perhaps he was not entirely a monster, but there was something utterly monstrous inside him, and he would not let it lay a finger on Thranduil ever again.

Greenwood Hall slowly came into view over the hill as Bard walked in the growing darkness towards it. If he were to examine why exactly he had walked at a normal, human pace, Bard knew he would find that it was because he wanted to have just a little longer before he discovered if Thranduil already hated him. So he decided not to examine his motives too closely.

He knew the children would be disappointed with him as well, he owed them better than this. He would do better than this for them in the future.

Bard had never really taken the time to appreciate the Hall itself before, far more interested in the person who lay within. But now knowing that it would be the last time he set eyes on the place Bard took a moment to appreciate it. In the advancing dusk Bard paused and realised that in many ways the Hall itself resembled Thranduil himself. Beautiful, authoritative, memorable, strong and impassive. And far more intriguing and lovely still on the inside. 

He had observed before the creeping ivy winding up the walls as both lovely and eerie all at once, and it was lovely, but there was also something about it that reminded Bard of sickness and disease, crawling ever further around the Hall and threatening to engulf it entirely. 

Bard knew he was delaying now, he was not one to stop and contemplate the scenery for long stretches of time. Yet here he was, doing so because he was reluctant and disinclined to cross the final few hundred metres to the door. Bard sighed to himself and took a deep breath before forcing one foot to move in front of the other, carrying him the rest of the way.

The doors themselves had always been ridiculously large and opulent. Bard knocked and waited.

Had he thought about it, Bard would have realised that Thranduil would not have answered his own door, far too high a station to even considered such a thing, and he would not have been surprised when Galion came to the door instead. But as he had not thought about it, it caught him a little off guard.

Bard wondered if it was better that Galion answered the door instead, having this conversation in an entryway would have been hardly ideal anyway, this way he would have to be lead inside to Thranduil. However, Galion almost instantly narrowed his eyes at Bard, eyeing him with stark dislike and suspicion, and it occurred to Bard that Galion might not even permit him entry in the first place.

“I have come to speak with Lord Oropherion.” Bard stated, as if it were not obvious, but it looked like the last thing he needed to do was to increase Galion’s dislike further.

Very slowly – as if he were calculating the merits of disobedience just this once – Galion opened the door wide enough for Bard to enter. Bard gave him as polite a nod as he could muster and stepped inside, only to be stopped by Galion taking hold of his arm none too gently. Bard turned to him, eyebrow raised as he was faced with a fierce expression from the butler.

“Know that were it up to me, you would never set foot in this house again.”

It made Bard worry, suddenly that he had been wrong the previous evening, and he had taken more than he realised, done more harm that he had comprehended at the time.

“Is he okay?” Bard asked with a sharp intake of breath, Galion’s eyes grew even harder, withdrawing his hand from the hold on Bard’s arm and folding them across his chest.

“No. He is not.”

Bard did not wait for Galion to give him directions to Thranduil, he was already so in tune to the lord that he could tell where in the large Hall he was, could feel him resting in the library, just as he could sense his children gathered with Legolas in one of the drawing rooms. But Thranduil’s presence called to him like a siren, demanding his attention, demanding he find out what damage he had done.

It took all of Bard’s control only to run at a human pace, not to just instantly appear in the library with Thranduil. But he knew he could not do that, tight control over every single one of his instincts and desires was the only thing keeping him from sweeping Thranduil into his arms and begging for his forgiveness. But he did not deserve forgiveness, not truly.

So Bard kept his speed natural as he raced towards the library, not bothering to knock before he entered the room, swinging the door closed behind him and taking a relieved breath that almost buckled his knees as he saw Thranduil standing at the fireplace, rather than lying frail and broken on the large sofa as Bard had started to fear.

“Bard.” Thranduil said, face a little shocked at his sudden entry but otherwise his face and voice betrayed nothing of his emotions. His heart however was another matter, Bard could hear it kick up in pace, thumping louder and faster than before; Bard could only hope that it was not a reaction borne of fear, though it would have every right to be.

It was only then, in the taught silence stretching out between them that Bard realised that he still had no idea what he was going to say, he did not even know what he _wanted_ to say. Every thought he had had about this meeting had assumed Thranduil would lead the conversation, that he would be faced with either his fury and hurt or his curiosity. But now he was faced with silence, and Thranduil was more unreadable to him than when they had first met.

“I do not know what to say.” Bard finally said honestly, when the silence became too much, Thranduil patently at ease with the prospect of waiting for Bard to speak, no matter the length of silence.

“Evidently.” Thranduil replied, voice still unreadable. He turned he back to Bard, going to the cabinet to retrieve a goblet and pour himself wine. Bard was not sure if he was attempting to hide it from Bard or not, but regardless he saw Thranduil slipping something into his drink again before turning back to face him and taking a sip.

“It was not my intention to hurt you.” Bard said quietly, Thranduil watching him over the rim of his glass, with a gaze so penetrating Bard felt flayed open.

“Which? My body or my heart?” Thranduil’s voice was not cold, but Bard still flinched at the words, he had not meant to ever hurt Thranduil at all.

“Both. I am so sorry.” Bard’s hand was reaching forward before he realised what he was doing, he had to snatch it back to himself, balling his hand in a fist at his side, gritting his teeth, the action was not unnoticed by Thranduil.

“Will you hurt me again?”

“No! _No_ , never. I swear it, on what little honour I have. I have come for my children and then we shall leave and I promise you, you will never see me again. I will never lay a finger on you again, you have my oath.” Bard’s voice was desperate to his own ears, pleading with Thranduil to believe him, that he never meant to cause harm, that he would do everything in his power to make sure that it never happened again, no matter how it paned him never to see Thranduil again.

But when Bard looked to Thranduil again, he did not find a look of relief or gladness, instead his beautiful face was darkened in a kind of contemplative sadness as he sat gently down onto the large armchair. All of his movements were gentler than usual, Bard guessed that after the blood loss he had to be careful. That was his fault.

“Ah.” Thranduil said so quietly Bard would have likely missed it, if not for his enhanced senses. “So you will hurt me again.”

“No. Thranduil you have to believe me, I _hate_ myself for what I did to you. I will take myself far away, to the furthest corner of the world if that is what it takes.” Bard besought, knowing that it was true, if that was what Thranduil needed to feel safe again then that would be what Bard would do, without hesitation.

Bard was not expecting the look Thranduil turned on him then, gaze as sharp and hard as ice.

“And do you not think that perhaps that might _be_ what hurts me? How easy you will apparently find it to forsake me and flee from my presence?”

“Forsake you? No Thranduil I only mean that – ”

“You only meant what? What other conclusion am I supposed to draw when you are proudly announcing your willingness to leave me, to be away from me forever? I thought that– no, it does not matter what I thought anymore.” Thranduil had been angry at first, but he ended sounding broken, it cut through Bard sharper than any silver-tipped knife ever could.

“It matters. It matters to me.”

“No Bard, it does not. What I _thought_ and what I _felt_ are so clearly redundant to you that I will not do myself the dishonour of voicing them now.”

“What did you feel?” Bard asked, his voice was quiet, and he knew he should not ask, just as he was sure he knew the answer, Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at him again.

“You would dare to ask me that now.” It was not a question, it was an accusation.

“If not now, when?” Bard replied, it was not what he should have said, it only served to highlight the fact that he was going to leave.

“Stay, and I will happily tell you every single day. But if you can leave me so easily, then you do not deserve to know.”

“ _Easy?_ You think it will be easy for me? You think it is not tearing me up inside to so much as _contemplate?_ I will do it because I would not see you hurt because I l– ” Bard stopped himself abruptly, he had not realised it was true until that moment. He took a deep breath before continuing, “Leaving you will be the hardest thing I ever do.”

“Then do not do it.”

“I must, Thranduil after what I did to you – ” Bard tried to explain but Thranduil held up a hand, silencing him.

“I admit, I do not know exactly what happened the other night.” Thranduil started, fingers absently toying with his collar, right where Bard knew the marks from his teeth would still be. “My memory is hazy, and what I can recall makes little sense. But I think you know exactly what happened. I would have you tell me Bard.”

“I cannot.”

“You mean that you will not.”

“Does it matter which is true? The end result is the same.”

“You talk as if you hurt me that night.”

“I _did_.”

 “Though I will confess that being dropped to the floor only moments after my completion and being left like a common harlot to watch you flee the building most certainly _hurt_ , I am speaking of the fact that you seem to believe that you hurt me physically.” Thranduil said, Bard winced at the words. “However, when we were together, the only thing I recall feeling is devastating, almost consuming, pleasure.”

“You were scared. You cried out in pain, you smelt of fear.” Bard said quietly, Thranduil raised a thick and sculpted eyebrow at the mention of smell, but otherwise did not acknowledge it.

“Considering what you had just done to me, and that you had apparently transformed my neck into my single most erogenous zone, I was _remarkably_ oversensitive. And regardless of what your olfactory senses might have told you, I was not scared.”

“But you were, I – ”

“Bard, listen to me. I know my own mind. I know there are things you are refusing to tell me and I do not know why. You are so adamant that you hurt me do you not think it possible that you were so mistrustful of yourself that you believed you had hurt me even when you had not?”

“You do not know what I am capable of, if you did you would not trust me either.”

“I do not know because you will not tell me.” Thranduil replied, tone clipped but not unkind. “I would not push you away.”

“You should be angry with me. You should hate me.” Bard was shaking his head, _acceptance_ was something he had barely contemplated except in his most fanciful moments, not something he had ever taken seriously, and not something which he himself should accept, knowing what he did.

“Hate you? How could I ever? I do not know exactly what you did, or what you think you did Bard, but you made me feel alive where I have been cold for so long.” Thranduil told him emphatically. Bard thought how ironic that was, that he made Thranduil feel alive. Truly it was the other way around, Thranduil breathed life into Bard with his every movement, his every word, his every touch.

“You _should_ hate me though. You should fear me.” Bard pressed, a far off part of his mind wondered if he had lived so long devoid of any hope of acceptance from a lover, that now when faced with it, it scared him.

“Why would I fear that which has never done me harm?”

“But I have done you harm.”

“You have done nothing I would not allow if only you would ask.” Thranduil responded, it made Bard fear just how much Thranduil already knew, how much he remembered. “Tell me Bard, please, just tell me what it is you are.”

Bard was frozen, considering, not for the first time, if it would be so terrible for Thranduil to know, if he would accept him anyway, true to his words. But he shouldn’t, and if Bard had to protect Thranduil from both their desires then he would. When Bard made no move to respond, still as a statue, Thranduil continued instead.

“What I know of you Bard, is both few and plentiful. I know that you share the same proclivities as me, a rare find. Rarer still for neither of us to be so entrenched in hatred for our own natures that we can actually be together without drinking ourselves into a stupor first. I know that you love your children beyond measure, as I do Legolas. I know that you are a good man. But many things I know about you build only more mystery between us. For example, I know you speak countless different languages; both modern and ancient, yet I cannot say where someone of your class would have learnt such things. But then your class is another question too, for I suspect that you have ample money to live better than you chose to.

“Then there is the way you speak, occasionally your choice of words is odd, both when you seem to be evading something, and when you just seem to slip, as if you learnt to speak so long ago that sometimes you talk as one from hundreds of years ago. You accent too, I cannot place it. You also say strange things, such as just now, calming you could smell my fear. Then there was the day I met you, you caught me falling from my horse in the pitch black of storm, such a thing should not be possible.

“Then there are the marks on my neck, the breaks in my memory, the feeling of…well, I would not know how to explain it, the feeling of feeding and hunger, so deep it was primal and sexual all at once. Tell me Bard, what is the answer to all of these mysteries?”

“I – I _cannot_.”

“I will not push you away.” Thranduil said, Bard believed him, it was what he was beginning to fear.

“Then you are a fool.”

“Then a happy fool I shall be.” Thranduil stated adamantly, stubborn, he was _so_ stubborn.

“No Thranduil.” Bard’s voice wavered between pleading and firm. “I fear I will be your end.”

Thranduil let out a short and harsh bark of laughter at his words, it was not a nice sound, it made something cold coil in Bard’s tattered soul.

“I already know my end Bard. And it is not you.”

“You cannot know that.” Bard responded, Thranduil’s words confused him, the surety with which they were said.

“I do.” Thranduil stated unwaveringly. “What I _know_ , Bard, is that I have been insatiably, almost unbearably, lonely for a very long time. I know that _you_ stop me from feeling thus. And I know, that you give me _hope_ where I have not had any for a very long time.” Something about Thranduil’s words nagged at Bard, telling him there was something else going on, some factor he did not know so had no accounted for, and as Thranduil raised his goblet to his lips again Bard realised what it was – or rather, he realised the question, if not the answer.

“What do you put in your drink, Thranduil?” He asked, his voice was soft but it did not stop Thranduil’s countenance from closing off immediately, like a wall had been thrown up again him. Bard wanted to take the drink from his hand and kiss him, to tell him whatever it was it would be okay; but Bard did not know if that were true, and even if it was, it was not his place to go to Thranduil and kiss him now.

“You would have me tell you my secrets, while you refuse to tell me yours?” Thranduil was right, it was unfair of him to ask, he had no right to the answer.

A silence stretched out between them, neither willing to relent on the secrets they did not wish to divulge. Bard wanted nothing more than to be able to cast aside all of his fears, to confess everything to Thranduil and live happily together for the rest of their days. But that was a fairy story, and they were not children.

“I wish things were different. I wish I could hold you and forget about the world. Forget about everything else.”

“Then do that. The only thing stopping you is yourself.” There was a desperate edge to Thranduil’s voice, a momentary loss of control from the lord that twisted at Bard’s heart.

 “I will not put you in danger.”

“Will you not allow me to make that decision for myself?” Thranduil asked, there was hurt in his eyes that threatened to weaken Bard’s resolve, but he knew this was best, he would not risk Thranduil’s life for himself. He was not that selfish.

“I will not risk your life for me.”

“No. But you will take my happiness.” Thranduil said and Bard was clawing at himself from the inside to go to him, to comfort him, not to leave.

He knew that Thranduil would always have Legolas, that he loved that boy more than anything in the world, that Thranduil would go on to laugh and smile with his son. Just as he knew that Thranduil’s smiles would likely only ever be for Legolas that his lonely words were also true.

“I should collect my children.” Bard said quietly into the silence. They both pretended his voice did not waver, the both pretended Thranduil did not blink back tears.

Thranduil looked so tired, like he could collapse at any moment. It fuelled Bard’s guilt. He hated that he could not go to him, to comfort him, to lay him to bed and stay with him until he woke. He would never get that.

Thranduil walked to the library door and held it open for Bard, he spoke only when Bard had already passed him.

“Know that I would accept you, Bard, No matter what. Despite what you believe about yourself, I know you to be a good man.” Thranduil’s voice was slow and sad, Bard felt wretched even as he shook his head.

“You do not know that.” _You do not know how wrong you are_.

“My memory is hazy, fragmented. It is not gone.” Thranduil closed the door, shutting Bard out and leaving his words ringing in Bard’s head

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying it! Only two left to go <3 comments and kudos are always loved and adored ^^


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh sorry for the wait, I went on holiday and went back to work so time got a bit squeezy, forgive me <3

 

 

“We need to do something.”

“Yes Bain I know that, but what? He won’t even tell us what happened.”

“Maybe mister Thranduil would tell us.”

“You know he doesn’t want us to go there Til.”

“But _why_. I thought da liked him.”

“I don’t know; I don’t know what happened so I don’t know how to help.”

“I’ve never seen him like this before, there has to be – .”

The voices of the children eventually faded, it was not the first such conversation Bard had overheard in the past fortnight. They underestimated how far he could hear for, how in tune to the sounds of his children he had become, he could hear them for miles, they always started talking before he was truly out of earshot.

It made him move faster, for he did not want to hear.

He had never been dishonest with his children before, and an omission such as this was the same as a lie in his eyes. But he did not know what to say to them, how to explain what had transpired between himself and the lord of Greenwood Hall.

Perhaps he was being selfish, and only wished to save himself from their judgement.

Not that they had ever judged him before, but this felt so viscerally different to Bard. Thranduil was no longer some nameless, faceless stranger that he had unwittingly taken too much from in the night. He was _Thranduil_. He had become a whole person to Bard, with a smile and a laugh and a mystery. He had become someone to Bard in a way he had not allowed in a very long time.

He did not trust himself, he knew that now and it made him wary. Thranduil had perhaps been a well needed reality check to him to remind himself that he was not to be trusted, that the control he had over the predator inside himself was only tenuous, that when faced with a true temptation he would break. He was weak.

Still, he had not wanted to be false with his children, but neither had he known how to tell them the truth. He was more ashamed of what he had almost done to Thranduil than he had ever been in his entire life. He did not want the people who thought the best of him to finally know the worst. So instead he opted for silence, and he said nothing at all.

He forged on through the murky night, free of storm but thick with fog, though it did not impair him. He barely noticed the weather at all anymore, as long as the sun was gone then it did not matter. Forcing himself to walk towards the town, Bard tried not to think about why he was going there. It was futile of course, he could never escape the reality of his actions, he was going there to find some poor innocent to feed from.

It had become harder of late though, he found himself needing to feed more often than before, each time he took from a stranger in the night it was less and less fulfilling and did not sate the hunger inside him. Though it was difficult for him to fathom that such a thing, such a visceral and hungry dependency had sparked to life within him after only a few illicit moments, Bard knew what his body craved. Knew who it craved.

Bard fought against that craving every day as an opium-eater might try to crawl away from the den. Perhaps it was futile, but Bard had the will left in him still to crawl for a little longer at least.

He had considered moving, taking the children and moving on to a new town with less temptation threatening his newly fragile control. He knew he should move, would have moved were he a better person. But he could not bring himself to do it, to even bring it up to the children, for surely then they would demand explanations. He knew the real reason wasn’t a fear of having to explain himself, the real reason he could not find the power to move on from this small town was this very moment likely sleeping sound and beautiful at Greenwood Hall.

Doubtless it was his inability to make himself leave the town that truly distilled the feeling of helpless futility in Bard as he forced himself again towards the town and not the Hall.

No. Bard banished the thought. It was not futile. He remained in this town because he knew he was strong enough to remain safely away from Thranduil. In truth he worried for the lonely lord; something haunted him, the mystery he would not reveal to Bard, and Bard was no angel but he would watch over him from afar if he could. It was not only the lust that prevented him from moving on, whatever it was between them had long since grown past lust.

A man stumbled down the cobbled road in town and Bard pulled him into a black alleyway. His blood was sour with alcohol; he was barely coherent enough to be afraid of what was happening to him. The taste made Bard gag now but he took as much as he could stomach, trying to stave off the need for another as long as possible. Though nowadays he could barely go two days, always so unsatisfying.

Bard healed the marks on his neck and pushed him stumbling back out into the road, wiping his memory lazily, putting no false memories in his wake, with the amount he stank of drink he would probably not remember any of the night regardless.

Bard sank down against the alley wall, resting his face in his hands and refusing to give in to the bile rising up inside his throat. There had been long centuries when Bard had wondered if he still had a soul, but he knew he must now because it yearned for Thranduil with every minute, but never more so than in these moments. When feeding made him sicken where it used to assuage his needs, his everything ached for Thranduil more acutely, as if Bard did not already know what it was he wanted. Bard knew that blood had not changed, only himself.

Fresh from a feed, he was weak in these moments when he used to be strongest, and today he could not resist the lure of falling into memory and fantasy just for a few moments. Eyes closed and unconcerned of the damp that seeped into his clothes from the floor and wall, Bard let himself the indulgence of dreaming.

He called forth Thranduil’s image in his mind, he tried not to allow himself to think of him often for it only made staying away all the harder. It both soothed him and ailed him. He remembered his silver hair and the feeling of it as it wound through his fingers, he remembered the feeling of Thranduil’s warm rosy lips against his own cold ones, how he felt warmer than he could remember whenever Thranduil touched him, whenever he was close. He remembered his eyes, piercing and shrewd, he remembered his elegant hands and deft fingers as they roamed over his body. He remembered how good it had felt as Thranduil came apart in his arms.

Bard thought about a different life in a different world, one where they could be together simply and honestly, where none of the barriers between them would exist. He thought of coming home to Thranduil after a day of work, the beautiful lord languishing like a cat in the sun, smiling at him when he returned, complaining that he had been gone so long when he needn’t work at all if he didn’t want to. He even thought of the children and Legolas, playing happily, none of the cares Bard was sure they carried in this world, none of the sorrow children should never have to face.

He let himself sink into the fantasy until a familiar scent wrenched him forcefully from it and he froze in his tracks. Bard hadn’t even been aware that he had been moving, yet he must have been, for gone was the alleyway and set in front of him was Greenwood Hall, with its sprawling ivy and too large doors. An open window sent Thranduil’s unique scent drifting out to him and Bard fell forward a step before clawing back control of himself.

Cutting off his enhanced olfactory sense as best he could Bard turned and staggered blindly away from the house, unable to get his feet and legs to move efficiently as he fought himself to move. He couldn’t understand why it was today he had come here, unconscious of what he was doing, what had pulled at him stronger than before and led him here today. Then he heard it through the open window and his sharpened ears; a whimper of pain.

Bard stilled in his tracks again, unable to force himself to move further away. Frozen where he was as a heart that had not beaten in a long time clenched painfully. A hiss of hurt swiftly smothered, another muffled cry of pain, these were not the sounds of nightmares. Quiet as if trying to hide it. Hide it from Legolas Bard would wager.

He tripped over his feet as he fought with himself over going to Thranduil.

But he knew, he knew he would not be welcome. That last he had seen Thranduil he had left and now the Lord would want nothing less than for Bard to see him at his weakest. Bard knew that now he would only cause more distress to Thranduil, that he was not welcome, least of all in a moment of pain. Besides, there was nothing he could do, among his supernatural gifts was not the ability to heal pain.

Nails digging viciously into his palms as he fisted his hands, Bard forced himself to walk away. He tried not to listen, but the sounds of Thranduil’s pain followed him.

He shut himself off when he reached the little farmhouse the children called home. Sitting on the lumpy sofa and staring into the middle distance, falling into something between meditation and despondency. Never sleeping wore on him, his body never got fatigued, but never having respite from your own thoughts was a gruelling battle of its own creed. Bard missed being able to retreat to sleep. He could barely remember what sleep felt like.

Sometime later, morning from the way the curtains were tightly closed, Bard was pulled from his blank reprieve by Sigrid gently clearing her throat, focusing back into the here and now to see his three children sat opposite him, looking strangely serious.

“Kids?” Bard asked hesitantly.

“This is an intervention.” Sigrid stated matter-of-factly.

“Um – ”

“You’re going to tell us what is wrong, staring I’m pretty sure with what happened between you and Thranduil and then we’re going to find a way to make it better.” She steamed on, Tilda and Bain both also set with their best approximation of stern faces as they backed up their sister.

“There’s nothing to make better, I’m f – ”

“No da, you’re not fine. We’d have to be blind deaf and dumb not to realise it and we’d have to not care at all if we didn’t want to help. And we do care, a lot.” Bain scolded him, not letting him finish his false claim to being fine.

“We love you da.” Tilda added solemn and genuine in the way only a child can be.

“I don’t deserve your love.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it was out there now and he couldn’t take it back, Sigrid looked worried, Bain shocked, Tilda confused.  

“Well tough, it’s yours.” Bain retorted defiantly and it was almost enough to make Bard smile.

“Whatever it is da, we love you. Just tell us.” Sigrid implored and she looked so much like her mother, was starting to sound like her too, Bard had never been able to refuse Madeline either.

So he told them, about Thranduil, about the way he felt and the things he had done and the secrets between them. He told them about the night he lost control and fled into the night, about blacking out and tearing apart the barn in his uncontrollable rage. About going back the next day and being unable to tell Thranduil, that he feared the acceptance because he did not deserve it. Because he was not safe. He told them about how every meal he took now was unsatisfying, how he yearned for Thranduil, how he knew they should move, would move if he were a better person – if he were a person at all – but he could not bring himself to do it.

The children listened carefully and thoughtfully as they always did when he told them something of note. There was a silence when he finished his story as they digested what he had told them, as it grew longer Bard began to fear their reaction again, especially as a nonplussed and conflicted expression dawned on Sigrid’s face.

“Da, you went to a barn and tore it apart?” She spoke slowly, as if approaching a particularly confusing problem, Bard nodded and her face set into a smile that Bard did not understand. “You went into a _barn_ da.”

“Yes Sigrid I know.” Bard responded, confused at her repetition.

“Do you? Because you’re not acting like it.”

“I don’t – ”

“You went into a _barn_ da. You were blacked out and still hungry and fighting that horrible urge to take more and you _went into a barn_.”

“Yeah, you’re talking like this great dangerous monster, like you did something terrible that proves you can’t be trusted, but you got yourself far away and didn’t hurt anyone.” Bain added and Bard faltered in his thoughts, he had never thought about it like that before. He had seen the destruction in the barn as an example how dangerous he was, but the children saw it as just the opposite.

“Still, I couldn’t trust myself around him, if I got hungry – ”

“Have you ever thought about hurting one of us?”

“What? No! I never would. How could you – ” Bard recoiled from the question but Sigrid cut him off again.

“You’re around us all the time when you’re hungry and you’ve never hurt us. Would never even think of it.”

“It’s not the same Sig, with Thranduil…” Bard winced, not wanting to explain things she was certainly not old enough to hear.

“Yes, you said he would let you drink from him, you’d never have to take from someone unwilling again.” Sigrid continued to reason.

“I can’t trust myself not to take too much, not to hurt him. To stop.”

“Yes you can da. You stopped both times. Even when you were half starving, even when you thought you were overwhelmed. You stopped. You did that. You’re not a monster da and you’re not going to hurt any of us; me, Bain, Til or Thranduil. You couldn’t.” She was relentless, just like her mother, Bard was left speechless, reaching for arguments and reasons that had evaporated at her words.

“You’re a good man da.” Tilda piped up again, all reassuring smiles and sincerity. Bard realised he was crying, he had not done that in a very long time. Suddenly he had his arms full of three children and being squeezed as tightly as they could, it was just what he needed.

Left to his own devices it would have likely taken Bard days if not weeks to work up the courage to go to Thranduil and ask for forgiveness, for another chance. But he was not left to his own devices and his children were all but shoving him out of the house as soon as the sun touched down behind the horizon.

Bard faltered in his steps though, as he remembered the pain he had overheard the night before. He thought it possible Thranduil would not wish to see him if he was vulnerable, just as he might not wish to see Bard, let alone grant him another chance regardless of the circumstances. Bard steeled himself, resolved to plead for forgiveness and accept whatever answer he was given. He only hoped he had not already lost what chance he had.

Galion answered the door again, and again he reluctantly gave him entrance to the hall. Thranduil was in the library, Bard knew without being told, but this time he followed Galion and waited to be announced properly before entering the room.

“You will have to excuse my state, I did not expect you to return.” Thranduil said, he did not turn from where he was looking out the window, wearing an opulent night robe that fell onto the floor, though it was not yet late.

Bard was torn between apologising for ever leaving and refuting Thranduil’s claims about what he referred to as a ‘state’, his casual robe (as casual as the lord seemed to ever get) draped over him like the finest robes, his hair hung like silver stars streaming down his back, and though Bard could not yet see his face, he knew it could be nothing less than perfection to Bard.

“There is nothing to excuse for you are always a vision.” Bard told him honestly but Thranduil laughed a little harshly, Bard felt it was aimed at himself and not Bard, he did not like it.

“Why are you here Bard.”

“To apologise. To beg for your forgiveness. For a second chance, if you would give it.” 

“And if I would not give it? What then.”

“Then I would leave and never trouble you again, though every day I would lament the choices I made to push you away.”

A silence stretched between them before Thranduil spoke again, voice quiet. The air felt melancholy, as though Thranduil had given up all hope, but of what Bard could not say, there was too much hopelessness in the air between them for it to all be for Bard.

“What has changed?”

“Nothing, only my perspective.”

“What changed your perspective, I wonder.”

“My children. Though I still have many fears.” Bard admitted. “I still fear hurting you.” More than he already had.

“You will tell me the answer to the mystery that is you?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes.” Bard breathed, frightened of what it would mean but not faltering in his resolve, and at his word Thranduil finally turned from the window to face him.

He would always be beautiful, but he looked tired, so tired. Bard was reminded painfully of what he overheard the night before and took a step forward, reaching out before he could stop himself. He forced his feet to stop until Thranduil gave the smallest nod, permission for Bard to cup one side of his face in a hand and gentle the pad of his thumb over a sharp cheekbone, under a tried eye. Thranduil sighed and tilted his head ever so slightly into the comfort.

“You are tired.” Bard stated, concern creeping into his voice, Thranduil nodded. “I found myself here last night before I knew what I was doing. I heard you, you were in pain.”

“I am always in pain.” Thranduil’s admission cut Bard to his core, he would protect him from every hurt the world had to offer if only he could. “You have secrets and so do I. I do not know how we will be happy Bard, there are things you do not know. I am lost.” Their voices were whispers now.

“Tell me. I will find us a way. Any secret you hold, I will hold for you, if you will permit me.”

Thranduil took a deep shaky breath and spoke, and somewhere inside of himself Bard knew he had known for a long time the secret that crept from Thranduil’s lips;

“ _What if I were dying?_ ” Thranduil whispered. “Could you still love me then?”

“What if I were already dead?” Bard replied in a gentle voice as their foreheads rested together.

“I think I knew. It felt outlandish and childish to even consider, but I think I knew.”

“It is a painkiller you put into your drink.”

“Morphine. It helps, sometimes.”

There had been no secrets between them, not truly, for really they had both known. Bard had not wished to believe it, not wanted to confront it, and Thranduil had felt the mere idea of a creature like Bard childish and silly. But they had both known anyway, somewhere. Too much had passed between them to be able to hide such things.

“What is it?” Bard asked, he prayed for something curable, something with a glimmer of hope to cling to, the life in Thranduil was too bright to be extinguished so cruelly and so early.

“The doctors do not know, and I have seen many. All they seem to agree on is that it is killing me and they know not how to stop it. They think I have six months, but I know I have less, I can feel it.”

Bard drew Thranduil into his arms and breathed him in.

“You can have forever, if you want it.”

The response Bard received was in a kiss, deep and desperate, grasping at the fringes of the hope now dangled in front of him and Bard responding in kind, burying his hands in that silvery hair and pressing Thranduil up against one of the many bookshelves. He felt himself come alive again as Thranduil’s slender fingers curled into the fabric of Bard’s shirt and pulled him impossibly closer.

“Don’t leave me again. Ever.” Thranduil’s voice frantic amid kisses wavered between commanding and anxious.

“Never. For as long as you desire it I will be at your side.” Bard’s words were a promise and upon hearing it Thranduil melted into his arms.

“My chambers…” Thranduil managed, words breaking off into a whimper as Bard nipped at his lips and his hands roamed down over Thranduil’s rear.

Somehow and with no doubt little dignity they made it down the hallway and Thranduil guided them both into his chambers. Bard did not look around Thranduil’s bedroom, all he was able to notice as Thranduil tugged them both back towards the bed was obscene size and opulence of said four poster, curtained bed. But the décor hardly seemed to notice at that point. Bard caught Thranduil before he could drop back onto the bed, in favour of pushing the delicate night robe off of his shoulder and watching it slip to the floor instead.

Thranduil blushed a pretty pink as Bard slowly stripped him of his clothes, running his hands over every inch of ivory skin as it was revealed to him. He felt as though he should not be muddying Thranduil’s skin with his touches, but he also knew that Thranduil would scold him if he stopped now. He traced Thranduil’s collar bone with his lips, resting his head in the crook of Thranduil’s neck and breathing steadily as he fought with the urge to drink, to taste. His hands gently pushed the sleep leggings from Thranduil’s smooth hips, stepping back just enough to let his eyes wander over Thranduil’s newly bared body, Bard was confronted by a coy look from the lord.

“You’re wearing a disproportionate amount of clothes.” Thranduil commented and Bard smiled.

“Then I suppose you had better change that.” Bard responded, feeling himself warm at the lascivious smile Thranduil paid him.     

Thranduil’s fingers were deft as they rid Bard of his clothes, lingering over his chest, breath hitching as Bard sucked careful kisses on his next before ridding Bard of his trousers and smalls with far less finesse.

“I want you too.” Thranduil breathed, a hand coming up to press at the back of Bard’s head, encouraging his mouth to bite, but Bard waited, dragging his lips over the skin there.

“What else do you want?” Bard asked. “I will give you anything.”

“I want you to take me, in every way you can. I want you to sink your teeth into my neck and drink from me as you did before and I want to feel you inside of me.” Thranduil’s voice belayed no hesitation, no uncertainty, and Bard felt his cock harden further at his words, pressing their bodies closer together and feeling Thranduil against him, hard and wet already, Bard would wager it had been a long while.

“There is something I think you would enjoy more than your neck.” Bard murmured into Thranduil’s pulse point. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Bard nudged Thranduil gently down onto the bed and Thranduil moved back until his back was at the pillows, reaching into the bedside table and retrieving a vial of oil before lying back on the bed in a clear invitation.

Spread naked before him on the bed Bard could not help but stop to look again, he was sure there had never been anyone so beautiful in all the world. To Bard it felt as if Thranduil almost glowed, the snowy skin so ethereal in the dark places they lived that he looked like an angel among wolves, fresh snow amid the dirt. His body was long and slender and elegant, without a blemish, though Bard would love him even were he marred with scars over every inch. His cock was flushed pink and weeping already, hard against his flat stomach.

Bard advanced before Thranduil became impatient, kissing his way up Thranduil’s long legs and stopping when he reached Thranduil’s cock. He flashed the lord a wicked grin as he licked a wet strip up his length, spreading Thranduil’s legs further with his hands as he did and reaching for the oil. He let his mouth to roam over the soft skin at the insides of Thranduil’s thighs, his femoral artery there thumping against Bard’s lips.

“Okay?” Bard asked, grazing his elongated canines over the delicate skin, a helpless whine was all the response Bard got, he could not help but smirk against Thranduil’s skin, proud that the lord was already coming undone.

Bard slicked the fingers of one hand and pressed one against Thranduil’s entrance, massage the tight ring of muscle, coaxing it to loosen and open for him. Thranduil’s moan as Bard pressed his finger inside was turned into a wail of pleasure as Bard sunk his teeth into the inside of Thranduil’s thigh.

Thranduil’s taste exploded into his mouth with the heady flavour of lust and pleasure. It was as intoxicating as he remembered, sweet and rich and flooding his senses. Thranduil’s hips bucked as Bard pressed a second finger inside him and drank in deep pulls from his thigh, he found the bundle of nerves deep inside Thranduil and stroked over it, Thranduil crying out Bard’s name as Bard groaned in his own pleasure at the powerful wave of desire that had come crashing through Thranduil’s blood, filing up his senses.

Bard had three fingers inside Thranduil, rubbing rhythmically against his prostate and still taking, thick, hungry drags from his thigh. He wrapped his free hand around Thranduil’s straining cock and gave him two strokes before Thranduil came with a decadent moan, spilling over his stomach and filling his blood with such a taste that Bard would never forget.

As Thranduil came down from his climax, shaking through aftershocks and boneless on the bed Bard withdrew his fingers and forced himself to release his leg, lapping over the wound and ignoring his own throbbing cock in favour of checking Thranduil over, smiling when he saw Thranduil hadn’t yet lost any of his natural colour from his feed.

“I want you inside me.” Thranduil complained, though his words were still slurred with pleasure, it made Bard laugh.

“Only you could complain now.” Bard chided fondly, crawling up Thranduil’s body and kissing his loose lips. “Besides, I plan to make you come again my lord, while I am inside you, just like you want.”

“I am not so young.” Thranduil sighed, making Bard’s breath hitch and moan as he slid a hand between them and wrapped it around Bard’s neglected cock. “Though I would still have you find your pleasure as well.”

“You may not be so young anymore, but I have my ways.” Bard murmured and Thranduil watched him, intrigued.

Bard raised his own wrist to his mouth and bit down only enough to break his skin, he then offered his wrist to Thranduil’s lips. Thranduil raised one of his sculpted eyebrows but brought the bleeding wrist to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the wound. Bard’s cock throbbed as Thranduil drank from him and he was sure he would have spilled himself had he not gently tugged away his wrist after only a few moments.

Tracing his fingers over the inside of Thranduil’s thigh he felt the bite closing up into smooth skin and saw the energy returning to Thranduil’s face. He kissed Thranduil deeply, a taste that was exquisitely _them_ mixed in their mouths, wrapping a hand back around Thranduil’s softened cock and stroking him back to hardness in only moments, swallowing the moans Thranduil panted into his mouth.  

“Now, I’m going to take you.” Bard rumbled into Thranduil’s ear, voice low with unrestrained lust, cock jumping at Thranduil’s excited whimper.

He found the vial of oil and slicked his cock before lining himself up and pressing into Thranduil’s tight heat in one slow push. The blood he had fed him helped Thranduil adjust to the stretch faster, dulled what pain there might have been after a long lover-less period of time, but still Bard waited for Thranduil to tell him he was ready. The lord whined and tugged at Bard’s hair, spurring him into movement and Bard did as he was commanded, pulling back ad slamming back into Thranduil.

It did not take him long to locate his sweet spot or build up a pounding rhythm, his endless strength and endurance making it easy for him to pound into Thranduil the way the lord clearly wanted. Thranduil’s words were an incoherent garble of sounds which might have been intended Bard’s name panted out and punctuated by unashamed moans of pure pleasure. Thranduil knees were hooked around his arms and Bard pressed them down, Thranduil’s eyes fluttering at the improved angle. Thranduil was beyond real words as Bard fucked him, but as their ends raced towards them he bared his neck to Bard in a clear request, and Bard could not have refused him even if he wished to.

He sunk his teeth into Thranduil’s neck and felt Thranduil come, cock untouched just moments later. The combined sensations of Thranduil tightening around him and the blood once again drowning his senses forced Bard into a shattering climax, emptying himself deep inside Thranduil.

Bard collapsed as carefully as he could manage next to Thranduil, forcing his teeth to retract again as he kissed and lapped over the wound left there.

“I think I love you.” Thranduil said quietly, voice post-coital and sleepy but honest and aware nonetheless.

“I know I do. I think you have saved me.” Bard admitted softly, brushing Thranduil’s silver hair out of his closed eyes.

“I want forever.” Thranduil said as he drifted off. “I want it with you.” Thranduil was asleep before he saw the smile on Bard’s face or the tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. Bard held him through the night, chasing away the pain as best he could.

As he watched Thranduil sleep, it occurred to Bard that all of the centuries of loneliness and hopelessness he had endured now felt like they had been worth it.  

They had gotten them here, so they had been worth it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if morphine is water soluble or not, but if it isnt then this is a universe where vampires are a thing so its also a universe where water soluble morphine can be a thing :') that is not the most unbelievable thing about the fic :')
> 
> Thank you for reading, sorry again for the wait, only the epilogue to go now which probs won't be as long as normal chapters and I hope to write soon to complete this story <3


	8. Chapter 8

 

The sounds of the children, all four of them, running around and about Greenwood Hall and its surrounding grounds was like a balm to Bard’s soul. With the sounds of their laugher and games combined with Thranduil’s hand tucked into his own, Bard found himself feeling warm often now.

It made him sure he had a soul after all, or maybe Thranduil had simply found a way to return it to him.

Bard’s nature had even proven to be a good thing twice over for them. First because when the time came, he would be able to save Thranduil, that if in a few months from now Thranduil still wished to become like him, Bard could do that. And secondly because it was an easy thing for Bard to glamour the servants who required it and visitors to the house to believe that there was nothing out of the ordinary in this house, be it two men living together or the tightly closed curtains amidst the day.

Bard had explained to Thranduil that his tricks could only go so far, that eventually people would notice that neither of them had aged or that they were lovers, and when that happened they would have to move on to a new place.

“I do not mind.” Thranduil had smiled.

“You don’t like new places.” Bard pointed out, sounding inexorably fond, which of course he was, how could he not be.

“I do not like places that I do not consider home. Home does not seem to be a place any more, it is you, it is Legolas and the children. Perhaps the South of France, or a vineyard in Italy, could become home for a while, I hear they are beautiful places.” Thranduil had then added cheekily, attempting to get a laugh from Bard, but Bard had not been able to help the slight downturn of his lips, he was worried Thranduil did not understand what he was asking for from Bard, but he was determined he would before making Thranduil like himself.

“They are bright places, sunny and hot. Here the days are often so murky that moving during the day causes no real harm. But in places like those we would only be able to emerge in the night.”

“Things that exist in the light of the stars are more beautiful than any other.” Thranduil had said reverently, pressing a soft kiss to Bard’s lips and assuaging his fears again.

That had been almost two weeks ago, it had been a good two weeks.

Now they were tucked inside in one of the large drawing rooms, the curtains closed to block out the light of the sunny day. Bard didn’t mind the sun, it was difficult to when his children loved it so much. They were playing outside right now; he could hear them as he brushed his hand through Thranduil’s silvery hair.

Thranduil was exhausted, the night and much of the morning spent in great pain, unable to sleep or rest. Bard had held him close as Thranduil struggled to muffle his sounds of pain, he hadn’t wanted to wake and scare the children. As the afternoon had crawled towards them Thranduil’s pain had ebbed and he was able to take another dose of morphine without endangering himself. Now he was dozing, his head pillowed in Bard’s lap as he soothed away what lingered of the pain as best he could with his soft touches.

“Why won’t you just do it now.” Thranduil’s voice was raspy, accusatory in his overtired and hurting state. “Why do you make me go through this.” His words flared up a guilt in Bard that he pressed away, for before this there had been a full week of good days, and Thranduil had bathed in the sunlight, returning to Bard who tasted the sun on his skin and smile on his lips.

“I won’t steal you last days of life from you. You do not know how precious it is yet.”

“This is not a life I wish to lead.”

“Not today I grant. But most other days it is, you soak up the sun much like a cat does and you revel in the flavours of wine and food. If you become like me the sun will threaten to kill you and food and drink will turn sour and vile in your mouth.”

“When.”

“Pardon?”

“It is when I become like you Bard, not if. I have not changed my mind.”

“I must know you understand. It is not a fairy tale I offer you. It is not even really life.”

“Perhaps not life no, but it is with you and it is not an end either. It is something that will allow me to see my son grow up. And if you would tell me that is not a fairy tale, then it only shows that while you might not consider yourself alive, you have never truly been dying either.” Thranduil said softly, taking Bard’s hand in his own. “I would have you do it now, and spare me this pain.” He implored and Bard felt a great sadness well up in him.

“I promise you that when the bad days begin to outweigh the good I shall do it. But for now, I would have you lie in the sun and drink your wine and eat all of the things you will miss.” Bard answered, squeezing Thranduil’s hand in his promise.

“Do you miss the sun so?” Thranduil asked, Bard supposed it was a natural question, he often spoke of the sun, of missing the warmth on his skin and the simple pleasure of watching a sunrise. It was easy to think things bleak when your world was entirely dark.

“Not so much anymore.” Bard told him honestly.

“Oh, pray tell me why?”

“You’ve always reminded me of the light. When I first saw you I thought that if you told me you were an angel, I would believe in god. You are my sunshine now.” Bard told him, smiling as Thranduil leant up for a kiss, carefully supporting his exhausting body to give him the kiss he wanted.

“What about when I become like you, and I cannot see the sun either, what then?” Thranduil asked, a note of genuine trepidation entering his voice.

“The way I feel about you will never change. You will always be like the sun to me, bright and beautiful. You give me hope.”

“And what, pray tell, is it that you hope for?”

“Something that I have not allowed myself to dare believe in a long time; that I might be happy, that I might not be such a monster after all.”

“Do I make you happy?”

“You know the answer to that already.” Bard smiled, he had told him so often that he knew there was no way Thranduil’s heart could really doubt it.

“Tell me again anyway.”

“I love you. You make me happier than I have ever been, in all my long years.” Bard answered him easily, it was not a hardship to say the things that sat so deeply in his heart, a content smile crept across Thranduil’s face and he dozed with Bard brushing his fingers gently through his hair.

 

Almost two months later they lay in bed facing one another, Bard cataloguing the new lines in Thranduil’s face, lines of tiredness and the strain of being in pain so often. He wished he could draw the pain away somehow. He supposed he could, in a way, but there was no going back.

“I have not had a good day in over a week.” Thranduil said, his voice rasping and weary, little of the melody Bard had first heard in it.

“I know.” Bard replied, wishing it could be different, the sun had just set outside, still casting a beautiful orange glow over the sky.

“Please.” Thranduil’s eyes were wide and beseeching, red rimmed from the tears he had spilled in his pain that day. Neither of them needed him to clarify what he meant, and Bard would not deny him this time.

“You are still sure?” Bard asked again, he had asked a great many times. But he was satisfied now, that Thranduil knew what it meant, understood all of the things he would be giving up, all the things that would be harder, all the ways he would likely feel as a monster.

“I would not ask it of you, were I not.” Thranduil told him, before a tremor ran through his body and a wince clouded his face, he was still in pain. The look he turned to Bard when he opened his eyes was heartrending, his piercing blue eyes turning wet. “Please Bard. It hurts.”

Bard could not respond with words, instead bringing their bodies flush together, tangling them together where they lay on their sides, until he could hardly tell where one of them stopped and the other began. Bard bit into his wrist carefully and brought it up to Thranduil’s mouth. Those lips, cracked from the last few days, wrapped around the broken skin and drank from the wound deeply, hungrily.

Bard stifled his groan as Thranduil drank from him, he had known it was prone to be an arousing sensation to him, but it felt wrong given the pain Thranduil had been in before. But as Thranduil’s body went lax in his arms, the haze of pain finally fading out of his limbs again, Bard found only an answering arousal hitching at Thranduil’s breaths.  

Bard tucked his face into Thranduil’s snowy neck and breathed in his scent, letting it fill his senses and overwhelm him again before sinking his teeth into his neck. Thranduil’s taste exploded on Bard’s tongue and intoxicated him as it always did, drowning him until the only thing he knew was Thranduil. Bard took deep drags into his mouth and Thranduil’s little moans and whines were muffled in Bard’s wrist but present nonetheless as his hips rutted gently at Bard’s own.

The desire to never stop swarmed Bard, crashing over him like a catastrophic wave as it always did, only this time, Bard let himself be swept up in it, let himself be engulfed by the need to drink. He let Thranduil flood him, his lifeblood flowing into Bard’s mouth freely as Bard made no move to stop it this time. Bard felt invigorated, almost new-born as he took more than he had from a person in an age, and never before with the absence of guilt.

He tried not to fear as Thranduil’s body sagged limp in his arms, no longer responsive or rutting against him, the whimpers of his pleasure quietened and the feeling of him drinking from Bard’s wrist stilled. Bard continued his long gulps of blood from Thranduil’s neck even as the pulses from his heart grew slower and smaller each time, he only stopped when there was nothing left to take.

Bard had been worried that taking so much when he was unused to it would make him fall into a haze, wanting only more and more, like an addict falling back into his vice of choice and unable to control it anew. But that did not happen, Bard did not even spare a thought for it, instead he was suffocating with the fear that for some reason this would not work, even though he knew it was the way it was done, though that knowledge did nothing to calm him when Thranduil lay dead and lifeless beside him.

Bard carefully moved Thranduil’s form so that he was lying on his back, hands folded neatly over his stomach, hair brushed out of his face, and he waited. He did not leave the bedside, unsure himself of how long the process would take and unwilling to go anyway. Thranduil would not wake alone.

So Bard waited and he watched and he tried not to let the bile build up in his throat for every second that passed but Thranduil did not stir.

It took six hours and twenty-four minutes, Bard had been starting to slip into despair, certain he had done something wrong, made some mistake that had cost him Thranduil. He would not have come back from that loss.

 But Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open, piercing blue eyes focusing slowly and fixing on Bard’s own.

A slow smile spread over Thranduil’s lips.

“Hello.” Was all he said, the music was back in his voice.

Bard stooped down and kissed him, collapsing with relief into his arms and they kissed and kissed. They kissed as if they had all the time in the world.

Which of course, they did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IF YOU GOT THIS FAR I LOVE YOU <3 I really hope you liked that rather sappy ending, and everything that came before hand ^^ I would love to hear what you thought of the story and to everyone who has commented throughout I LOVE YOU and thank you for not giving up on the fic even when there was a rather startling hiatus <3 
> 
> You can find me over here on [tumbles](http://shadyanne.tumblr.com/) if you fancy striking up a friendship or reading more of my silly stuff <3


End file.
